


A Good Lie, A Better Story, and The Only Path Left

by Hallianna



Series: A Good Lie, A Better Story, and The Only Path Left [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric didn't trust many things - the worth of his coin, the staleness of The Hanged Man's ale, and her.  Hawke was the only person he knew who could charm a miser while giving away half her purse to a needy kid from Lowtown.  She was brave, beautiful, and kind.</p><p>The Hawke he sees now is broken - sad and lonely and afraid.  But she'll never admit it and Varric won't push her.  But when she takes an unnecessary risk and is gravely injured, Varric can't take her silence or her pain any more.  He is determined to bring back the friend he fears he has lost and the woman who has given him hope and a reason to love.</p><p>And all the while, Hawke's friends drift together, bound by their faith in her.  They examine her relationship with Varric through their experiences, loves, and losses.</p><p>And at the end of it all, the world will burn and their lives will be changed forever.</p><p>Explicit rating for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Illusion of Permanence

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic after being gone from the world of fanfiction for several years. I used to write in the Whedonverse and dabbled in The Dresden Files (under different names). Comments and constructive criticism always welcome. I may play around with the timeline in the game just a little, nothing major.
> 
> Main and chapter titles inspired by my favorite author, Neil Gaiman - credit given where credit is due. Any lines that are directly quoted or paraphrased or cause inspiration are attributed to the work it came from.
> 
> I do not own any of these characters, nor make any money from these writings. Bioware and all affiliated companies/writers/producers, etc. are the owners.

Chapter 1:  The Illusion of Permanence

 

_“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”_

_― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones_

 

* * *

 

"Goddammned darkspawn!  Get over here, you fucking cowards!"

Varric froze in his tracks.  Andraste’s tits....Hawke was angry.

No, Varric thought as he watched their leader decapitate another darkspawn archer with one vicious swing, Hawke wasn't mad.  Hawke was **pissed** , so far beyond plain old angry or straight up fuming.  He’d seen Hawke angry, they all had.  This was something different.

 And that had him worried.  This was Hawke, after all, his good friend and the one person he would follow into the depths of the Deep Roads any time she asked.  He’d watched her for three years, partially because she was their leader and partially because he found himself fascinated by her.  Who wouldn't be?  

In that time, he had seamlessly stitched together a picture of the woman he thought he knew.  Hawke was someone who always inserted herself as peacemaker, who just wanted everyone to get along.  Good, honest, Hawke who looked after her friends and her family.  She was generous, kind, beautiful, and people tried to take advantage of that.  

But the joke was always on them.  Inside that head of hers, Hawke had a shrewd brain and when she needed to, the ability to bring down a righteous anger on wrongdoers.  Varric took a sick kind of glee watching her play innocent with shady merchants and slavers, only to trip them up with a particularly cutting remark, or if all else failed, her giant fucking broadsword.  And when that sword came out and started whistling through the air, everyone in their party knew what was going on.  It was her transition into Warrior Hawke, and it always gave Varric the shivers to watch her morph into her other half.Warrior Hawke was, if he was totally honest with himself, downright petrifying. Warrior Hawke took a singular kind of joy in battle, something that he assumed was unique to warriors.  Sure, he loved popping off the head of a demon with a well-placed bolt, but Hawke’s feral smile and equally feral attitude that appeared only on the battlefield always made a nice contrast to the steady kindness she showed others in everyday life.  It was balance, and Varric liked seeing Hawke balanced.

But in the last several months, a subtle shift had occurred.  No more disruptive than pebbles falling from the ceilings of Orzammar, Hawke had slowly starting closing herself off.  Granted, things had been bad when they got back from the Deep Roads - they returned filthy rich, yes, but at the expense of Bethany almost dying and getting carted off by the Wardens.  And Varric had warned Hawke - with fame and money comes a new life.  But she had smiled wanly and slung a good-natured arm around his shoulders and said that she only wanted the best for her mother, treasure-seekers and thieves and lowlifes be damned.  

And he had been right.  Hawke’s name was on everyone’s lips. Human, dwarf and elf alike turned up at her door, wanting her help with other jobs, or demanding to know how they too could get into the Deep Roads and rise above their stations.  He had driven off more than his fair share of fortune seekers he found haunting her doorstep.

But as Hawke’s life and her standing rose, Varric watched her spirit spiral to the ground.  Exhaustion and tension piggybacked on her anxiety and guilt over Bethany.  She was being drug into the mess with the Qunari by the Viscount, and steadfastly refused to take the side of the mages or the Templars.  She grew agitated, even with him sometimes.  And while she still showed up at The Hanged Man, still played cards and tossed back drinks, the only other time she left her home was to take a job, the more dangerous the better.  He imagined she felt like a caged animal, tired of dealing with petty criminals and people wanting her help, and unsure of how to handle her newfound fame and wealth. 

And it was just like Hawke to never confide in anyone.  Even when he plied her with The Hanged Man’s best ale from Corff’s secret stash (which wasn’t even good, but it was better than the usual stuff) and kept her entertained with stories and jokes, she wouldn’t just open up.  He could come right out and ask her to confide in him, but it almost felt like crossing a line.  It was just on that side of _too intimate_ , and while he wanted her to feel like she could spill her guts to him, he wasn’t one to push.  

Varric had thought that a few good battles would give her an outlet for her frustration and anger.  But Warrior Hawke had changed, too.  She had become an absolute beast, ripping their enemies to shreds and taking risks she never would have before.  A perfect example was today.  Just as the darkspawn they faced now had topped the hill and ran screeching down the other side, Hawke had issued quick commands to the rest of them, then tore off to meet the group.  He half expected her to toss down her sword, run head long into the horde, and tear them apart with her bare hands.  He even swore he heard her _growl_ as she rushed forward, sword swinging in mad circles.

The Hawke he knew was starting to become a shadow of herself, and he was the only one who noticed. Or, if the others did notice, they said nothing.  It probably didn't help that the few times Anders or Merrill had tried to engage her in meaningful conversation, she'd blown them off, or worse, mocked their concern.

Varric shook his head, forcing his eyes to focus on the fierce battle around him.  He backed up a few paces, aimed, and took down a Hurlock that was charging for Hawke.  As his mind’s eye slowed in the heat of battle, he couldn’t help but notice little things. Things that hadn't been there before.  There was a hardness about her mouth, steel in her eyes, and a tension in her body that was wound tighter than Bianca's trigger.  It was if she was wanting the bloodlust and dust of battle to cleanse her, make her whole again.  There was desperation and need in her every swing, every feint, and no amount of dead darkspawn could give her the solace she so desperately sought.   

He spun as vibrations from a very large pair of feet rattled his ribs, his reverie lost as the foul scent of ogre hit his nostrils.  The beast was charging from the rear, trying to hem them in between it and the rest of the darkspawn horde.

"Got a big ugly one back here!" he yelled, and before he could whip back around, a hard shove sent him into a nearby boulder.

Of course it was Hawke.  Warrior Hawke may have done the same thing to get him out of the path of the ogre’s charge, but this Hawke wanted to fight the thing herself.  Shaking his head, he sprang to his feet and started raining bolts down on the ogre’s hands and face, trying to keep it distracted while Hawke drove her sword into its feet and lower belly.

“Hawke, don’t!” he cried as she lept impossibly high and raised her sword over her head, aiming for the thing’s heart.  A bolt of Blondie’s magic sizzled past his ear, going straight for the hand that was rising up to swat Hawke, but it was too late.  That massive fist hit her in mid-air and the impact sent her right into the edge of the cliff off to the left, far from the battlefield.  She impacted with a sickening crunch and before common sense or his survival instincts could kick in, he rushed to her side.

Anders’ anguished cry was drowned out by the slow, dull thumps of his heartbeat.  Varric threw one look backwards and shouted hoarsely, “Fenris, kill that damn thing!”  And then he ran to his friend, worry pinching his gut.

He vaguely heard Fenris’ warrior yell as the broody, but effective, elf tossed himself at the ogre.  And he almost didn’t feel the flash of heat from Anders’ fireball spell that hit the darkspawn and knocked them all flat.  All he could see was Hawke.  Varric skidded in the loose sand at the cliff’s base and collapsed to his knees, barely breathing.  Hawke had hit her head on the cliff and there was blood everywhere.

Varric cradled her head gently and started to dab at the gash that ran from temple to crown, blood matting her blue-black hair.  “Hawke, what have I told you about going after the big ones all by yourself?” he admonished softly.  A quick check told him she was still breathing, but her pulse was thready and he spotted other wounds through the gaps in her armor.

He used his other hand to probe her arms and legs, searching for broken bones.  But he was no healer, so he yelled, “Hey Blondie, if you’re done blowing darkspawn back to the Maker, could you hurry your ass over here?”  His voice, calm and in charge, was a cover for the anxiety he felt crawling up his throat.  Hawke couldn’t die, she just couldn’t. He wouldn't allow it.

One last flash of heat and a few seconds later, he heard the mage’s soft footsteps hurrying toward them.  Just as Anders reached them, the thud of the ogre’s body hitting the beach and Fenris’ triumphant yell resonated against the cliff walls and made Varric wince.  Well, at least someone was having a good time.

“Here, let me,” Anders said quietly as he landed beside Varric.  Varric hesitated, not wanting to give Hawke’s head up.  This possessiveness that rose in his breast startled him, but reason overrode the baser instinct and he shifted to the left to let Anders take over.  The worry that Varric felt was etched all over Anders' face as his hands lit up blue and he started healing Hawke with what magic he had left.

“Don’t say anything,” Varric warned as Fenris approached them.  “No comments about magic or mages or...anything right now.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Fenris replied in a soft manner that made Varric raise a speculative eyebrow.  One look at Fenris’ face told him that the elf was as worried as he and Anders.  Maybe more so.  

He’d seen the way Hawke’s casual flirtations had stumped, and sometimes silenced, the lanky elf and Varric caught himself wondering if Hawke fancied Fenris.  It would have been a bit of a surprise coming from the Hawke he knew, but this new Hawke was a puzzle he still hadn’t figured out.  Maybe sad, angry Hawke needed comfort from someone who was already sad and angry.  In a way, it made sense; commiseration was better than completely giving up.  But a small part of Varric didn’t want to know if anything between them had occurred.  The storyteller in him always wanted to know everything, but the man wasn’t sure if he could cope with knowing what Hawke and Fenris may have done in the dark, against a wall or slung over her huge bed....

Maker’s breath, he was getting soft in his old age.  Silvertongued, scheming Varric would have never thought twice about a woman he knew getting bedded by someone else.  What had Hawke done to him?

The light faded from Anders’ hands and he brought his head up, exhaustion and worry clouding his eyes.  “She’s stable for now, but I don’t know the extent of her injuries without getting her out of this armor.  And she may have head trauma, and I don’t have enough energy to treat everything right now.  We’re better off getting her back to my clinic.”

Varric heard a protest begin to rise in Fenris’ throat and he put a hand on the other man’s shoulder.  “We need to get her back to where she’s safe, and let’s face it Blondie, your clinic wouldn’t be safe with the Knight Commander herself guarding it.  Let’s get her back to her home and then you can bring all your supplies there.”

Varric looked at Hawke’s still body and stamped down the urge to beat his fist into the rock wall, frustration building in the back of his throat and blanking out any sane thoughts.  He quickly pulled her heavy pauldrons and arm and hand guards off so he didn’t get stabbed in the face.  “We go back now,” he said roughly as he bent and put his hands under Hawke’s shoulders and thighs.

“Let me,” Fenris said as he tried to take Hawke from Varric.

"Not today, elf,” Varric growled.  He shifted Hawke’s weight in his arms.  Somehow, he had expected her to be heavier.  In her armor, Hawke could look seven feet tall - Maker knows Varric had dreamed up more than a few tales of an amazonian-like Hawke who towered over her enemies and made them weep and beg before she killed them.  In reality, Hawke wasn’t much over five feet tall, and those who knew her or her reputation didn’t let her small frame fool them.

Fenris must have heard something in his voice, because he didn’t try to take Hawke from him again.  Anders followed behind them in silence, Hawke’s discarded armor pieces stowed in his bag.

 As they started the long trek back to Hightown, Varric said softly, “Hawke, goddamn you.  When you wake up, we’re going to have a little chat.”  He looked down at her pale face with its scrapes and bruises. “I want to know what happened to my friend.”


	2. Fragile Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke starts the healing process and Varric keeps watch.

Chapter 2:  Fragile Things

 

_“There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts.”_

_― Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things_

 

* * *

 

_Hawke didn’t register much at first.  Darkness and an almost suffocating warmth.  Then big hands with calluses on the pads of fingers gently gripped her face, moved through her hair, and stroked her shoulders.  A cool cloth, then more warmth....almost like electricity.  Or magic.  But those sensations didn’t last long, and the dark crept back in._

 

_It wasn't so bad here. She was no longer cold, or lonely. Even the sadness that had grown in her like a cancer seemed to be shrinking.  Why shouldn't she stay? It was easier to just let the darkness come.  Maybe there, ugliness and pain and hatred didn’t exist._

 

_Hawke let her head fall back as the black enveloped her._

 

_A solid fist to the chest, right over her heart, and harsh words that she couldn’t quite make out jolted Hawke upright.  Eyes wildly scanning her surroundings, she took one giant breath and instantly felt like lava had been poured down her throat.  Hacking until her eyes watered and her brain grew foggy from the exertion and lack of oxygen, she was forced back down and held in place._

 

_She wasn’t dead.  Elana rolled that over and over again in her mind.  She wasn’t dead._

 

_And then it grew dark once more._

 

* * *

 

“Maker’s breath, Blondie, what was that?”

 

Anders shot Varric a look that shut the dwarf’s mouth.  “She stopped breathing.  Short of using blood magic, it was the only way I knew how to keep her alive.”  Varric watched the mage place a gentle hand over Hawke’s heart.  Tendrils of healing magic curled around Hawke’s shoulders and ribs and then dove through the thin, rough cotton of her tunic.  

 

“Okay, fine, but...” Varric trailed off as he ran a shaky hand down his face, “...shit, she’s still awake, Anders.”

 

The mage quickly laid a sleeping spell over the warrior and she went boneless, all the rabid energy from a few moments ago completely gone.  She looked almost serene.

 

“I felt something,” Merrill’s voice rose from the corner of the room.  “It was almost like her spirit had started to separate from her body.”  Merrill bit her lip, her eyes abnormally large in her petite face.  “I think she stopped fighting the darkness."

 

Varric released his grip on Hawke’s shoulders and started to stomp towards the elf, but Fenris stormed into the room and beat him to it.  

 

“Never say that again,” he bit out, his low voice gravelly with unspoken threats.  “Hawke would never just give up.”  Merrill raised her head and met his eyes defiantly, a response on her lips when another voice interrupted.

 

“Wouldn’t she?”  Aveline asked from her post at the door.  Her strawberry blonde head came around the corner.  “Why not?  After all she’s been through, maybe what Hawke really wants is some peace.  Maker knows we haven’t been a help in that department.”

 

Fenris and Merrill started to argue with Aveline, and another voice cut them off.

 

“Enough!”

 

Leandra Hawke, matriarch of the Hawke household, came into the room burdened with towels and bowls.  Varric knew they were in trouble by the dark look on her face.  Leandra set the supplies down by Anders, who thanked her with a warm smile, then rounded on the group.

 

“I do not want to hear any more talk like that.  My daughter is wounded and needs rest and the attentions of Anders.  The rest of you do not need to be in here.”  She pointed toward the door.  “Out, the lot of you.”  The guilty looks she got made her soften her stance a little.  “You can wait in the study, or go with Sandal to the kitchens if you’re hungry.”  She turned towards Anders.  “You need anything else, you just let me know.”

 

The group started to file out slowly only to be met in the hall by Isabela and Sebastian.  Aveline muttered something about a scolding to them both, and they turned and followed the Guard Captain.  Varric saw Sebastian shoot a worried glance over his shoulder.

 

Varric carefully brushed the hair from Hawke’s face before starting toward the door.  A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

 

“You and my daughter are very close.”  It was a statement more than a question, and Varric nodded.  Leandra sighed deeply and continued.  “You can stay with her if you like.  The rest of them....I know they’re worried, but the way they were talking!”  She gazed down at him.  “I know she’s been different, ever since the Deep Roads and Bethany.  The demands on her time and her skills don’t help.”  She gave Varric a shrewd gaze.  “And I don’t think I’m the only one who knows something is wrong.”

 

Varric cast his eyes back at the prone form on the bed before answering, uncaring whether Anders could hear him or not.  “Now I know where Hawke gets it,” he muttered softly.  Clearing his throat, he said, “No, I noticed too.  She’s angry and tired and-”

 

“Sad,” Anders finished for him.  “We’ve all noticed it.”  He grimaced sheepishly.  “But when we saw that even you couldn’t get her to open up, Varric, I think we all just wanted to wait and see if she would come around.”  He placed a soothing hand on Hawke’s brow.  “And look what being cautious got us.”

 

Guilt palpated the mage’s words and Varric understood.  They were all guilty in this, but he felt like a dragon was sitting on his chest.  He turned to Leandra, who gave him a small smile.  “I’m so sorry I didn’t force her to just spit it out."

 

Leandra gave a short laugh.  “Serah Tethras, I don’t think the Archdemon could pull the truth from Elana before she was ready.  She’s always been stubborn to a fault, just like her father.”  She walked over to her daughter, kissed her cheek, and left the room.

 

Varric pulled a chair beside the bed.  “Hope you don’t mind me keeping watch.”  Anders shook his head and Varric settled in.  

 

The room was quiet as Anders mixed concoctions and wove spells up and down Hawke’s battered body.  Varric only half-watched the mage work, his mind troubled and his hands restless.  He fingered the blanket at the edge of the bed and after a few moments, found himself holding Hawke’s hand.

 

Her strong fingers were limp, her hand almost cold.  Varric kept glancing at her chest just to make sure it was still rising and falling in a steady rhythm.  He was not good at waiting, but for this, he’d wait an age and a day if it meant knowing Hawke would be all right.

 

After a while, Anders finished his ministrations, saying that time and rest were the only things Hawke needed now.  He’d healed her body, mending the broken ribs and head trauma, but couldn’t do anything for her more until she woke up.  “She may have dreams, so don’t be surprised if she moves occasionally.”  Varric lifted an eyebrow in question and Anders continued.  “I had to use a lot of magic to heal her wounds, especially the internal ones.  Sometimes, people who receive large doses of healing magic dream rather deeply.”  He snorted softly.  “And the dreams can be good, bad, or anywhere in between.  I remember one lady coming back after I healed her concussion and telling me her rather....intense dream.”

 

“Intense, huh?”

 

Anders colored slightly.  “Well, yes.  Intense is the only polite way I can phrase it.”

 

“And here I thought we’d gotten past all those formalities.  You don’t need to be polite with me, Blondie.  So what was it?  Fun times on a Chantry bench?  Syrup and a few midgets?”

 

Anders shook his head.  “I’ll give you one word.”  Varric leaned forward and Anders said, “Pigeons.”

 

“Pigeons.”

 

“Yes, pigeons.”  Anders cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable but Varric knew the mage enjoyed stringing him along.  “And now I’m going downstairs.  Care to join me?  I think Bodahn had some stew down in the kitchens.”

 

Varric shook his head.  “Nah, I think I’ll stay put a little while longer.  Just to make sure.  Plus, it’ll give me time to think up a good story to go along with....pigeons.”

 

Anders nodded and opened the bedroom door.  Beast, Hawke’s Mabari, nearly knocked him to the floor.  

 

“No jumping on Hawke,” he said sternly to the dog before heading down the stairs.  Beast cocked his head, whined, and leapt into the room, bumping into Varric’s chair.

 

“Whoa, boy.  You heard Blondie...no jumping.  And no other rough stuff.  Hawke needs her beauty sleep.”

 

Beast huffed once, as if he was acknowledging Varric’s warning, and promptly turned in a circle three times and threw himself on the rug at the foot of Hawke’s bed.

 

Varric eyed the dog carefully.  “You’re worried too, huh boy?”

 

Beast huffed again, and Varric chuckled wearily.  “I’ll give you this, Hawke. You’re the only person I know who can worry a Mabari.”

 

* * *

 

_The darkness had come back, but Hawke didn't feel like she was suffocating again. Instead, she felt...lighter. Was that the right word? She thought it might be.  If death had come sweeping with a heavy hand, the opposite must be light, life.  The heaviness in her chest had lifted and everything seemed better.  The ache that had been Bethany’s near demise was less, somehow.  It would never be gone, nor would her guilt over what happened._

 

_But Elana felt as though space had been made around the pain.  Space that was waiting for something better, something that could give her hope, give her strength to continue fighting._

 

_Hell, she might even take a side._

 

* * *

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, watching Hawke breathe.  Varric was afraid if he looked away, she might stop.  He felt ripped open and vulnerable, like every nerve was exposed.  Watching Hawke breathe gave him some peace.  She wasn’t dead, he knew this.

 

And when he reached for her hand and curled her warm fingers in his, the dragon sitting on his chest got a little bit lighter.  But none of it calmed him.  So with restless mind and hurting heart, Varric did the only thing he could.

 

He told himself a story.

 

It started with Hawke’s face.  Beneath the scrapes and bruises, Varric could see the strong cheekbones, patrician slope of her nose and her perfect mouth.  Her small chin led into a graceful neck.  Shoulders and arms that were solid muscle from swinging a sword since she was barely out of her mother’s skirts tapered into finely boned wrists and fingers.  Fingers he now held tight in his own.

 

And then there was her hair.  Varric could never quite nail down its exact color .  When the sun hit it, glints of purple and blue shone amongst the onyx strands.  She usually kept it tied back and out of her way.  Seeing it spread all around her, the ends just touching her shoulders, was giving Varric thoughts.

 

_Thick raven hair, spread over pale shoulders...a strand of it stuck to coral lips.  The ends curling ever so slightly.  The weight of it as it was grabbed and pulled back to expose her sleek throat...._

 

“Get ahold of yourself, man,” he muttered.  “Now is not the time to be writing **that** kind of story.”

 

But that hair called to him.  He meant to be soothing, he really did.  Releasing one of her hands, Varric whispered his fingertips through some of the strands on the pillowcase.  The sight of her hair tangled around his fingers sparked something low in his gut.

 

“Oh, Hawke,” he whispered roughly.  “What am I going to do with your stubborn ass?”  He bent low, his lips next to her ear.  “I know you.  Beyond all that hard-headedness and strength and glorious hair....you’re fragile.”  He sighed and leaned back in his chair, her hands once again tightly grasped in his large ones.

 

“We are all fragile.  Even me.”

 

* * *

 

_Hawke drifted, weightless, in the dark.  She was revelling in her newfound hope, even though it was a small thing._

 

_And then she felt something brush past her.  A weight in the air lingered near her face, then lifted the ends of her hair.  She laughed lightly as the ends tickled her neck._

 

_Vibrations near her ear sent a shiver down her spine and an unexpected rush of warmth suffused her entire body.  She closed her eyes and swore that she felt a hand grab hers as she floated, waiting for the darkness to lift._


	3. The Barest Shadow of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke wakes up and finds her oldest friend rarely left her side.

Chapter 3: The Barest Shadow of Truth

  
 _“Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot.”_  
 _― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 3: Dream Country_

 

* * *

 

"Message for you, serah."

The small voice was coming somewhere near Varric's left elbow. Slowly, he picked his head up from its cradle in the crook of his arm and blinked bleary eyes at the boy standing next to him.

A scroll of parchment was shoved at him and the boy gave him an expectant look. Fumbling for his coin purse, Varric found a piece of silver and flipped it in the air. The boy caught it deftly then took off.

"Bloody hell," he swore softly, shoving the message amongst the piles of paperwork strewn around him. He realized he'd fallen asleep at the big oak table that took up half of his room at The Hanged Man. Groaning, he stretched the stiffness from his neck and arms. Now, which of these damn shipping manifests had he been slaving over before that traitorous bastard sleep took him?

Varric grabbed the nearest pile of papers, plunked them down, and picked up his quill.

"About time your lazy ass woke up."

Varric's eyes slid to the left. Because this day just couldn't get any better. "Rivaini, I'm surprised you're still showing your face around here, what with all the stories."

Isabela plopped down in a chair near the other end of the table, her heavy boots making the table shake slightly as she propped up her heels. Varric tutted at her and she just smiled. "And what stories would those be?"

Varric couldn't help it. The pirate was fun to joke with, but he got a real kick out of messing with her. She so very rarely fell for it that he saw her as a challenge. "Why, the ones about you and your dashingly handsome dwarf lover. I hear he has some impressive chest hair and skilled hands." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Word around Lowtown is that you two fight like cats and fuck like dogs."

Isabela stared at him for one moment before tipping her head back and letting loose a full-throated laugh. It took her a few moments to calm down. Wiping tears from her face, she said, "Remind me to wake you up from a nap again sometime. I think that was one of the best lines yet."

Varric tipped his head at her in acknowledgment. "I'm so glad you approve."

Isabela chuckled and started to reach for a nearby pile of papers when she froze. "Varric, what is that?"

"What is what, Rivaini?"

**"That."**

The steel in her voice made Varric look up. She was pointing at the scroll the messenger had brought.

"Isn't that Hawke's seal?"

Varric grabbed the scroll before Isabela could get her hands on it. "Ah, shit," he said when he saw the wax had the Amell crest stamped dead center.

"Do you think...."

"I don't know." Varric gave his head a rueful shake. "I go by every day but yesterday Bodahn stopped me at the front door. Something about Anders needing quiet while he finished up a few spells for Hawke. Figured it was a good excuse as any to try and get some work done."

"Well, don't keep me waiting, Varric. Read it."

Varric broke the seal and let the parchment unfurl. The first thing he saw was the strong, slightly slanted handwriting of Elana Hawke.

* * *

 

_Varric,_

_Sorry about yesterday. Mother kept everyone out. Anders insisted on peace and quiet while he helped me. I woke up confused and it took some time for me to get my bearings._

_So I've been "resting", but you know me. Can't stay still for long. I'd like some company and was hoping you would come by. Mother told me that you’ve been here day and night, so much that she had to kick you out a few times._

_Also, don't be mad at Anders for not telling you all I was awake. I swore him to secrecy. I wanted to see everyone separately, on my own time. I have some apologizing to do and I was never good with crowds, especially where personal humiliation comes into play._

_Come and see me when you can. I’ll be waiting._

_Hawke_

* * *

 

Varric read the letter twice, once in disbelief, the second in irrepressible joy.

Hawke was alive, awake, and even-minded enough to write him. And she wanted to see him. Not the broody elf, Daisy, Rivaini or even Choir Boy.

She wanted Varric.

And Varric she would have. Trying not to startle the pirate, Varric rose smoothly from his chair. “It’s from Hawke’s mother. She wants to me bring some more supplies for Anders. He thinks she might wake up soon.” The lie rolled off his tongue like thousands of others he’d told over his life, but this one burned his throat. It wasn’t lying, he reasoned, it was postponing.

Isabela dusted the toe of her boot off. “Well, good. It’s about time she woke up.” She grinned at Varric. “Hawke’s my only source of coin right now and between cards, The Hanged Man, and The Blooming Rose, I’m starting to dry up.”

“It’s so nice you care, Rivaini,” Varric teased. “I’m sure Hawke will wake up, jump right out of bed, and go slay some bandits just to make sure you get your fill of gambling, ale and whores.” He waved a hand at where she was sitting. “Feel free to stay and have a pint or two on me. I’m going to play errand boy now.”

Varric waited for a patented Isabela remark, but she was already preoccupied trying to flag down Norah.

It took quite a bit of willpower to not run to Hawke’s estate in Hightown. As Varric left Lowtown and started to pass by the merchant’s square at Hightown’s edge, he stopped briefly to eye the bouquets of one vendor was hawking. They were pretty, and one particular grouping of dark roses reminded him of her.

Would Hawke laugh at him if he brought her flowers? Varric shook his head. Maybe some other time.

He didn’t hesitate when he raised his hand to knock on Hawke’s front door. But when Bodahn opened it and he saw the outline of Hawke on the second floor above him, his stomach dropped to his knees. What should he say? What did one say after his best friend was nearly killed and he had....feelings for her he couldn’t quite express?

Half terrified and half relieved, he stepped inside.

* * *

 

  
Hawke paced - from bedroom to landing and back again.

“You’ll wear a hole in the carpet, dear,” her mother said from behind her.

Hawke turned, making a face. “I can’t help it. I was out of commission for ten days - ten days!” Her fist clenched at her side. “I need to....” She looked around helplessly. “Are you sure I can’t go out and at least find a pickpocket to torment? There’s plenty of them in Hightown.”

“I think you should eat something, to start,” Leandra replied evenly. She gently guided Elana down the stairs and to the study, where Bodahn (Maker bless him) already had a tray of broth, bread, and fruit laid out. “You must eat,” she said as Hawke sat. “You were already too thin before you were injured.”

Hawke eyed her mother carefully, biting back a sharp retort. “No more spells, no more potions?” She leaned forward and sniffed the food. “Doesn’t smell like Anders had his hands on it,” she muttered.

Leandra stilfed a laugh. “No, no more spells or potions. Anders didn’t do anything to your food either.” She pulled over a second tray and started to load her plate with fruit. “He’s a nice man, your Anders. It’s sad that he has that....thing attached to him.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and swallowed a bite of bread. “Ugh, Mother, not this again.”

“Well, he’s very good at healing and he’s been nothing but kind to you. Plus,” Leandra said, smiling broadly, “he isn’t exactly hard to look at, what with that gold hair and those strong hands-”

“Mother!”

Leandra did laugh at that outburst. “Well, it’s true.” She looked over at Elana. “But that’s not my point.” And this was where Leandra had to tread carefully. Her motherly instincts told her she needed to figure out what was wrong and fix it, but common sense pressed upon her that the time for that conversation wasn’t here or now.

Hawke had always been headstrong, always leaping before she looked, but her heart was kind and for that, Leandra was thankful. This change in her oldest didn’t sit well, and she was determined to understand what had triggered it.

And she knew at least one other person who wanted to sort out the mystery of Elana Hawke.

“I was thinking that you might want to visit with your friends one-on-one. They were all so worried about you but-”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “But what?”

Leandra kept her face impassive. “I was just thinking it would be only fair to invite Varric over first. He did spend the most time with you. Was here day and night. I even had to kick him out of the house a few times, just so he could sleep in his own bed. And Bodahn stopped him at the door yesterday. It was right after you had awoken and I hated to do it, but Anders wanted no distractions."

Hawke slowly set her spoon down, remembering all too vividly the horrible jarring she'd felt as she'd returned to the world. But from there, it was fractured. She'd seen her mother, and then Anders, and the concerned faces of Bodahn and Sandal peeking around the door. The smell of Anders' magic, tinted with rosemary and elfroot. Comforting words and cool hands.

Hawke mentally slapped herself. "Varric was here the entire time?”

“Very nearly.”

Hawke’s look of surprise lasted the length of a stone’s throw, then dissipated into soft pleasure before she went back to her bowl of broth. Hawke may think she had everyone fooled, but Leandra’s hunch had just been proven correct.

Her daughter and the dwarf....well, that was something.

She’d met Varric Tethras many times over the years, seeing as how he and her daughter were not just business partners, but friends. Varric had always struck her as a little too clever for his own good, but his warm nature and ability to make people laugh at the drop of a hat made her see past his faults. In his own way he was a good man, even if he had what Leandra considered an unhealthy attachment to his crossbow.

A thought had been gnawing at Leandra for the last several months as she interacted more and more with Hawke’s ragtag band, and that thought involved her daughter and the quick witted dwarf she called friend. The wealth from the Deep Roads treasure had been more than enough to buy back the Amell estate and return it to its former glory. And for a job that big, Varric’s vast army of contacts and contractors had been cast in the role of home improvement.

He had orchestrated the entire endeavor with the skill of a master conductor. Or someone who was used to balancing lots of information, people, and money at the same time.

When Leandra and Hawke had dropped by the estate unexpectedly one morning, they found Varric already there. He was directing two workmen hanging a large painting over the fireplace and when he heard footsteps behind him, Varric spun around.

"Welcome to your not so humble abode," he'd said with a smile and a bow. And Leandra had found herself charmed by the rogue's obvious pride in the newly renovated home. And she didn't miss the way Varric's eyes lit up as Hawke gave her approval, or the way his smile widened as Hawke walked around, declaring that the house was beautiful, all thanks to the dwarf.

The pair had walked upstairs, side by side, and that's when Leandra saw it. A twitch in Varric's hand when he almost reached for Elana's - that little thing belayed layers of suppressed affection. It wasn't an accident.

If anyone could help Hawke, it was this man.

"You're right, Mother," Hawke said suddenly. " I should send a note to Varric, have him come over." She called for Bodahn and asked him to fetch parchment and a quill, setting aside her food.

"I'll leave you to your letter then. I think I'll go visit the neighbors for a bit. Lady Belgrad has been asking me to stop by for ages now."

Leandra got to the doorway before Hawke said, "Thank you, Mother."

Leandra smiled fondly at her daughter. "Of course, dear."

Bodahn bustled in with parchment and quill. Hawke wrote her letter four times, getting more frustrated with each draft, then decided to just write and send it off. No thinking allowed. If she thought too much, the demons and doubts crept back in.

Then she went to the second floor and watched out the window.

Half an hour later, the surge of joy that hit her in the chest when she saw Varric trying desperately not to hurry to her front door didn't surprise her at all.

* * *

 

Seeing Hawke descend the stairs, whole and mostly healthy, nearly stopped Varric's heart. He took a deep breath, prepared to deliver the smart ass line he'd worked on during his trip from Lowtown.

Hawke's arms around him, warm and strong, and her breath on his neck, definitely stopped all thought. Damn, and here it had been the perfect line.

"Varric," she breathed, burying her face into his shoulder.

Varric returned the hug, hoping the movement hid the shiver of pleasure that slid down his spine. "Hey, Hawke," he said lightly.

Hawke pulled back, studying him closely. "Hey Hawke? Is that all you have to say?"

Varric opened his mouth to say....anything, but found himself struck dumb.

And then Hawke laughed, loud and clear and bright, and the dragon that had been sitting on his chest for months was vanquished.

Whatever Hawke needed, whatever she asked of him, he would give it.

"Well, actually," he said slyly, "I had this great line for you, spent most of the trip from Lowtown on it."

"Oh? Well, don't keep me waiting."

"Maker forbid me from keeping a beautiful woman waiting." Varric paused, giving the moment the proper dramatic flourish.

"You lying sack of Mabari shit."

Varric closed his eyes and groaned. He should have known.

Isabela and the rest of the group stood at the front door, staring at them. He turned, hating that he had to let go of Hawke. "Why, Rivaini, whatever do you mean?"

Isabela started to spew a particularly vulgar remark when all hell broke loose. Merrill, who had been at the back of the pack, veritably leapt over the others to tackle Hawke to the ground.

Laughter and exclamations of joy filled the room as the others all wanted a turn to touch and hug their leader. Even Sebastian gripped Hawke in a tight embrace.

Varric found himself shoved to the side, giving him the chance to watch the melee. Hawke was flushed from all the emotion and the heat of everyone in the small entryway. A presence to his right made him look away.

Leandra stood next to him quietly, watching her daughter smile and laugh like she hadn't in months. When she looked at Varric, the longing and pain he felt shone plain as day on his face.

Gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder. " I can't tell you much, Varric, but I will say this. Be patient with her, but don't wait too long." Varric's golden brown eyes met hers in shock, then softened into understanding. He nodded once, then leaned back against the wall and watched, a position he had become quite used to.


	4. I Am Miserable in the Midst of My Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One line is borrowed and remixed from Laini Taylor's book Daughter of Smoke and Bone; "She moved like a poem and smiled like a sphinx."
> 
> Chapter dedicated to KyeShgall and Katdancer; for being very kind and commenting. This old-school fan fic writer greatly appreciates you both. My thanks also to everyone who has read and left kudos.

Chapter 4:  I Am Miserable in the Midst of My Joy

_  
“Every lover is, in his heart, a madman, and, in his head, a minstrel.”_

_― Neil Gaiman, Stardust_

* * *

 

“Maker’s breath, Hawke, you do get results.”

 

Hawke grinned.  “Don’t forget it, dwarf.”

 

Varric raised his hands in supplication and turned in a slow circle.  There was demonic ash everywhere, including his coat.  A fine layer even coated Bianca. Well, it made sense; after you take down waves and waves of shades, you were bound to be left with a little dust.  In the damp of the caves below the Harimanns’ home, they’d discovered the plot of Lady Harimann - the one who had been responsible for the death of Sebastian’s family.  

 

Varric loved a good revenge tale, but this was just a bit much.  It had all been for power, he thought bitterly.  When would these humans ever learn that power is only as good as the person behind it?

 

He watched Hawke approach Sebastian, whose hunched shoulders and ragged breathing spoke volumes.  He was standing over the body of the Harimann matriarch, hands hiding his face.  Varric slid his eyes to Merrill and she looked at the him warily.

 

“Sebastian,” Hawke said quietly, “we should probably leave.  Flora may still be upstairs and she may need our help.”

 

Sebastian didn’t move, and Varric started toward the pair, prepared to be the bad guy and drag Choir Boy out by his hair if necessary.  Hawke saw him and raised a hand, silently asking him to stay back.  Varric nodded and stepped back by Merrill.  He’d let Hawke handle this, for now.

 

Hawke started speaking in a low voice to Sebastian, not touching him, but close enough to put her hand on his shoulder if she wanted to.  And Varric watched.  He’d been keeping a close eye on her since their big reunion a week ago.  And some silent agreement between them had Hawke taking him with her whenever she went out.  Varric enjoyed being near her so much, but they hadn’t really taken the time to talk about what had happened - the Wounded Coast, their rudely interrupted reunion, the glances Hawke kept shooting his way when she thought he wasn’t looking.

 

Their first outing had been a favor for Aveline, cleaning up imposter guards who roamed Hightown at night.  They’d fought back to back, her sword and Bianca clearing swaths of the bastards.  She’d brought no one else along, saying simply that she didn’t want to bother anyone and since Varric was already plastered at her side, she might as well bring him.

 

He knew that was Hawke-speak for, “Varric, you’re the best fighter I’ve got and I want you there” but he didn’t go fishing for compliments.  It wasn't necessary with her.  He knew that Hawke felt for him... **what** she felt, exactly, had yet to be determined.  But Varric was damn well sure that she wasn’t going to get away from having a little chat with him soon.  

 

And he was all too painfully aware that he wasn’t the only one in their little group vying for Hawke’s attentions.  Ever since she’d rejoined the land of the living, that damn Tevinter elf had been coming around more.  Fenris even stole his seat last night at their table at The Hanged Man.  Varric _always_ sat to Hawke’s right.  His blood had boiled at the sight of the elf so close to Hawke, his white hair covering one eye as he spoke to her in deep tones, making her laugh as she threw a losing hand down.

 

There was no way Hawke could choose the elf over him.  He wouldn’t stand for it.  As he quietly seethed at the other end of the table, Varric briefly worried if he was being too possessive.  He didn’t actually have a claim on Hawke, not yet.  But a quick reexamination of the way his hands clenched and his jaw tightened when he watched Fenris and Hawke together told him it was a singular thing.  He didn’t react that way around Anders or Merrill or Sebastian, and Hawke interacted closely with all of them.  Aveline only had eyes for Donnic, and Isabela didn't count. She smacked everyone's ass, his included.

 

So he felt no jealousy when Hawke, tired of trying to be nice and coax Sebastian from the tomb, grabbed the Chantry brother by the shoulders and forced him to look up.  

 

“Sebastian, we have to go,” she said, her tone a little harsher than before.  “I know you’re hurting and we can talk about it later if you want, but it’s not good for you to stay here any longer.”

 

Sebastian’s blue eyes searched Hawke’s face and he sighed.  “You’re right.  I shouldn’t be down here any more.  It is a vile place and just another reminder of my family.”

 

Hawke gripped the man’s shoulders.  “Good man.”  She motioned to Varric and Merrill.  “Let’s get out of here.  I need a drink.”

 

“Well, that was-” Merrill started to say as they trailed behind.

 

“Something else,” Varric finished dryly.  “Oh come on, Daisy, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy blasting those shades.  Ancestors, that lightning spell you have is pretty, but effective.”

 

Merrill smiled.  “Do you like it?  I’ve been practicing.”

 

“I can tell, Daisy.  I can tell.  You didn’t hit any of us once.”

* * *

 

Hawke was ready to go home, strip, and climb into bed.  She still wasn’t up to full strength and that fight had taken almost everything out of her.  She smiled, remembering the way Varric and Merrill had chatted on their way back to Lowtown, but that smile quickly disappeared as she watched Sebastian head toward the Chantry.  She felt for him and hoped that he could now find some peace.  

 

She’d turned to walk away when his hand on her wrist stopped her.  “Hawke, I - thank you.  For everything.”  He sighed and a shudder ran through him.  “It was truly the Maker’s hand that guided me to you.  I will be forever grateful for what you’ve done.”

 

Hawke tried to downplay things with a shrug and a grin but Sebastian wouldn’t have it.  He reached up and put his hand on her shoulder, brushing her hair out of the way.  “You are brave and honest.  I’m very lucky to know you.”

 

Hawke felt heat creep up her cheeks.  Goddammit, this was Sebastian.  Varric didn’t call him Choir Boy for just any reason.  “Sure thing, Sebastian.”  She smiled.  “Besides, it just means you owe me a favor.”

 

Sebastian chuckled and let her go.  “I think I owe you more than a favor.”

 

“I’ll remember that,” she quipped lightly.  She gave him a friendly pat on the hand and walked away, feeling his eyes on her back.

 

She had never been so grateful to see her front door.  Hawke just wanted to shut the world out for a little while.  Things were confusing enough as it was, coming back from her injuries and still feeling the effects of Anders’ powerful magics.  She couldn't be distracted, not while Kirkwall stood on the brink of war with the Qunari.

 

And then there was Varric.  Funny, honest, a deadly shot and her closest companion.  These feelings stirring in her breast made her uncomfortable.  But Mother once told her that sometimes the best kind of love came from the unexpected.  Hawke hesitated in talking to him about what had happened because she wasn’t sure of herself, of anything really.

 

Her anger and pain - losing Bethany, being asked to solve everyone's problems when she couldn't deal with her own, and a staggering loneliness that kept her awake in a cold bedroom and left her empty - had settled like a lead weight in her chest and she knew she hadn’t been very kind or fair to any of her friends during that time. Especially to Varric.  She remembered every cutting remark, every hurtful thing she’d ever said to him and it ate at her.  Hawke knew he forgave her even before she had apologized to him the other night over a tankard of ale and a few hands of Wicked Grace.  But it didn’t make her feel any less like an ass.

 

Hawke was confused and it wasn’t a spot she enjoyed being in.  Varric confused her - one minute, he was flirting and making her laugh, the next he was quietly watching her from a wall or a chair at the other end of the table.  Was he waiting on her?  Maybe she should just launch herself at him to see what would happen.

 

Hawke flung open her door, chuckling at the image she conjured up - her pinning Varric to the floor in his room at The Hanged Man, his look of surprised delight giving way to heat and need right before her mouth crashed down on his.  Oh, that was good....good enough that she almost turned around to head back to Lowtown, hoping she could steel her nerves enough to actually go through with it.

 

Seeing Fenris sitting in front of the fireplace stopped her cold.

 

“Fenris?  What are you doing here?  It’s late,” she said before she could stop herself.

 

Fenris rose quickly.  She had taken him by surprise.  He shifted his weight, obviously uncomfortable.  “I, uh - I came by to see how you were.”

 

Hawke dropped her sword in the corner and started stripping her hand and arm guards off.  “Well, that’s very kind of you.  I have to admit, you’re a bit unexpected.”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”  Fenris started to walk to the front door.  “I’ll take my leave.”

 

“No, Fenris, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”  Hawke sighed.  Great, now she felt like an ass again.  “I just meant that you usually only come by if something is wrong.”  Maker, she was bad at this.  “It’s nice to see you, I mean.”

 

Fenris gave a low laugh.  “I see I’m not the only one who struggles to say what they mean.”  He came back to stand before the fire.  “I just wanted to check on you.  After everything that happened at the Wounded Coast and your injuries...”  He trailed off, watching her.  “I suppose you could chalk it up to friendly concern.  Isabela mentioned that you aren’t quite up to full strength yet.  I came by to offer my services.”  Hawke’s raised eyebrow had him quickly adding, “Sparring, I mean.  If you would like to practice, it may as well be against someone who can take you in a fight.”

 

That made Hawke laugh.  “You think you can best me?”

 

Fenris’ gaze focused sharply on her.  “I know I can.”

 

Let it never be said that Hawke didn't like a challenge.  "Okay, elf, let's take this outside."

 

"I don't think Aveline would like it much if we started fighting in the middle of Hightown."

 

"We don't have to."  She grabbed her sword and motioned for him to follow her.

 

"I was thinking of leaving weapons out of it, for now," Fenris said and jerked his head to where his own sword sat propped in a far corner.  "In Tevinter, we were first trained in hand to hand combat and had to master that before we could wield weapons."

 

Hawke looked at him, slightly stunned. "I didn't know that.  You rarely speak about your past. Not that I blame you."

 

Fenris smiled thinly. "Maybe one day I will."  He waved her closer. "But that is a matter for another time. Where exactly are we going to go, then?"

 

Hawke pointed at the ceiling and grinned. "The roof."

 

A few minutes later, Fenris ascended the last step, right behind Hawke, and was met with the sight of Hightown from up high.

 

"It's...beautiful,” he said, slightly dumbfounded.

 

“My favorite place in this entire stinking city,” Hawke said, gazing up at the star-studded sky.

 

She turned and saw Fenris staring at her, his heavy gaze so intense she felt like she was being torn apart, bit by bit.  “Right,” she said, reaching back to tighten the tie in her hair.  “Sparring.”

 

“Yes,” Fenris said, stepping back and breaking the moment.  “I assume you know how?”

 

Hawke scoffed.  “Just who do you think you’ve been following around for three years?  Plus, Carver could barely keep from tackling me to the ground every chance he got when we were children.”

 

Fenris chuckled quietly.  “That sounds....nice.”

 

“He was an ass, even as a child, but he was my brother.  I learned more from him pummeling me into the ground for a few years.  Until I got big enough to match his blows,” she said, smiling softly at the memory.

 

“But that’s in the past,” she continued, dropping back to peel off her armor.  “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

Fenris nodded and followed suit, taking off his clawed guards.

 

Stripped of armor and just in her tunic and loose pants, Hawke looked smaller.  But she knew Fenris wouldn’t underestimate her.  

 

“No blows to the face allowed.  Ready?”

 

Fenris dropped back into a stance, nodding.  “When you are.”

 

Hawke probably misheard, but the tone in his voice had changed, nearly falling off the cliff of normal into the valley of _damn_.  

 

She must be more lonely than she thought if Fenris’ voice was affecting her like this.  Maker save her.

 

A solid hit on her left shoulder had her hissing.  She swung back, missing Fenris’ solar plexus by a hair.

 

Fenris chuckled, bounced back on his heels, and sprang forward, fists a blur.  Hawke blocked him and spun, catching his stomach on her shoulder and flipping him over her.

 

He landed on his back, Hawke standing triumphantly over him.

 

Fenris looked up her haughty smile and said plainly, “I let you do that.”

 

“What?  I don’t think so.”

 

Rising up on his elbows, he cocked his head and said, “You were gravely injured, Hawke.  Do you think I was going to hit you with full strength right away?”

 

Hawke put her hands on her hips.  “You were going easy on me?

 

Fenris rose, suppressing a smile at her outrage.  “Does that upset you?”

 

Growling, Hawke launched herself at him.  He caught her deftly, spinning her so his arms locked underneath her shoulders.  Hawke reacted automatically, kicking back with her heel and catching him on the shin.

 

They grappled like that for a few minutes, each one trying to pin the other down without taking them to the ground.  As the fight intensified, grunts of exertion and Fereldan and Tevinter curses caught the attention of a few people brave enough to walk Hightown at night.  Heads swiveled, trying to find the source of the noise.  Slowly, a small crowd began to gather near Hawke’s house.  

 

No one noticed when a figure broke off from the crowd after a few minutes, his shadow blending into the walls as he walked around the back of Hawke’s home to the hidden stairwell that led to the roof.

* * *

 

Varric was two tankards deep into The Hanged Man’s shitty ale.  Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake this feeling that something was still off about Hawke.  The fight with Lady Harimann and her shades had been intense but he noticed that Hawke looked winded, tired afterwards.  And that was something he’d never seen before.

 

 _Fuck it,_ he thought, _I just need to go see her.  I’m tired of waiting._

 

His mind drifted to a place that he normally reserved for the quiet dark of his rented room.

 

_He imagined her, and everything about her, so intensely that it almost felt real.  A smile like a sphinx, Hawke moved toward him, all grace and power and poetry.  Miles of pale skin, long limbs and black hair enveloped him.  She smelled like leather and rose water and she tasted like rain and hope._

 

_Heavy lidded eyes met his, their startling blue shining in the candlelight.  A hand moved up to untie his hair, fingers combing through like it was finely spun strands of silk._

 

_“Varric, please.”_

 

_And he would come to her, again and again, pulling every bit of pleasure from her possible, and then a little more.  Teeth and lips and tongue over every inch of her skin, hands pinning and caressing and stroking until her moans became too much for him to bear, and he sank into her.  Everything went black, then a light exploded behind his eyes as she took all of him, everything he was willing to give._

 

“Ancestors take me.” Varric was out of his chair before Norah could flag him down and ask if he wanted another ale.  And then he was out the pub’s door and on his way to Hightown, the determined look on his face deterring more than a few would-be thieves.

 

The approach to Hawke’s home was oddly crowded, seeing as it was late and only the very stupid or those with dirty dealings were out in Hightown after dark.  As he slowed, his fine hearing picked up on noise he knew well.  Someone was fighting on the roof of Hawke’s home, and it sounded pretty brutal.  He stopped completely at the back of the crowd, listening closely.  

 

He knew that grunt.  That was Hawke, and it was coming from the rooftop.  Bianca was in his hands and he was creeping along the side of the building before anyone even noticed him.

 

_I’m coming, Hawke._

* * *

 

Hawke stepped back, rubbing her shoulder.  “Damn, Fenris,” she said in between deep breaths.  “I admit, that hurt.”

 

“Not too much, I hope?”  The elf was nursing a bruise on his collarbone where Hawke had clocked him.

 

“Not enough.”

 

Fenris stilled.  “Are you sure, Hawke?  Your injuries-”

 

“Sod my injuries.  I need to get back up to strength and this is as good a way as any.”  Hawke brushed hair from her face, her ponytail long undone.

 

Fenris bowed slightly.  “Your wish is my command.”

 

“Oh, fuck off, Fenris,” Hawke said, laughing.

 

Her laughter died when Fenris tackled her brutally, taking her to the ground.  The breath knocked from her lungs, Hawke gasped, momentarily stunned.

 

“I warned you,” he said roughly.

 

Hawke nodded in acknowledgment.  “You didn’t tell me you were damned heavy,” she wheezed.  Sudden awareness of how closely they were pressed together made her shift underneath him.  

 

Hawke watched as the movement made Fenris close his eyes and shiver.  When he looked at her again, the lust in his eyes was very, very clear.  It pinned her to the ground, heavier than his body could ever be.  

 

He pushed himself up on his hands enough to create space between their faces.  “Hawke,” he breathed, “I don’t think you are aware of just how you affect me.”  His long fingers combed through her hair.  “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve spent three years being afraid - of Danarius, of my own hate, and you have been the only thing to keep me from completely destroying everything around me.”  He leaned closer.  “Tell me I’m wrong, and I will go now, and nothing between us will change.”

 

Hawke felt his lips come within a feather’s width of hers - yes, she was lonely and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in someone else for a few hours, but his name stopped her.

 

_Varric._

 

And she knew she couldn’t.

 

“Fenris, I-”

 

An arrow buzzed through the air and landed within a inch of them.

 

“Get off her, elf.   **Now**.”

 


	5. Sometimes We Must Dare, Even If Just A Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one story Varric won't tell anyone - how he and Hawke fell apart, then came together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definite Explicit rating for this chapter (you've been warned.) Been a while since I wrote like this, so hopefully I'm not too rusty. Many thanks again to readers and commenters!

Chapter 5:  Sometimes We Must Dare, Even If Just A Little

 

_“He wondered how it could have taken him so long to realize he cared for her, and he told her so, and she called him an idiot, and he declared that it was the finest thing that ever a man had been called.”_

_― Neil Gaiman, Stardust_

 

* * *

 

“Get off her, elf.   **Now**.”

 

If Varric had been himself in that moment, he would have turned away, his heart beyond sad.  But he would have left them and whatever fate they chose.  That didn’t mean he wouldn’t have confronted Hawke at a later time, but normal, surefooted Varric wouldn’t have shot a bloody **arrow** at Hawke and Fenris.

 

But jealousy rears up at funny times, and anger usually isn’t far behind.  He had been angry when Bartrand betrayed them, and furious when he had discovered his dear brother had locked himself into an abandoned Hightown mansion and fed his staff and guards lyrium.  He had been angry when Bethany had been taken by the Wardens to save her from the darkspawn taint.  And he had been very, very angry when Hawke decided to throw herself at an ogre.

 

This anger was new, and all consuming.  But even as he stalked toward the pair, who had already pulled apart, a small part of him knew he wasn’t in his right mind.

 

With what little restraint he had left, Varric holstered Bianca and ignored Fenris as much as he could.  He turned wide, wild eyes to Hawke and instantly regretted it.

 

She had backed up several feet from him and Fenris, hands out in front of her as if trying to ward off an attack.  It wasn’t a completely inane gesture.  But her face - Maker, the look on her face split him in half.  She looked angry and betrayed, sad and hopeful, and worst of all, lost.  As though this moment, and the few before it, had simply broken her.

 

They stood there for seemingly infinite moments, staring at each other.

 

The sound of a throat clearing startled them both.  Fenris was pulling his greaves back on, not nonchalant but trying for relaxed.  And the sight of that bloody elf trying to pussyfoot around them broke Varric’s silence.

 

“Ancestors, broody, I’m not going to take your head off.”

 

Fenris raised one highly skeptical eyebrow.  “The arrow you shot at us certainly makes a different argument.”

 

Varric shook his head slowly.  “I shot it at you, not Hawke.”

 

“That doesn’t help your point, dwarf.”

 

Varric smiled, more feral than friendly.  “Exactly.”  He waved a hand in the direction of Fenris’ mansion.  “I think you may want to go back home.  Maybe you’ll get lucky and find Danarius waiting for you.”

 

“ _Varric_.”

 

His head whipped around at Hawke’s exasperated exclamation.  He started to protest, or maybe defend himself, but Hawke cut him off.  “Varric, just....hold your smartass tongue and keep Bianca holstered.”  She glared at him, clearly angry.  Every fiber in him screamed _No_ as she walked over to the elf and said very simply, "Fenris."

 

“Hawke.”  He nodded respectfully.  “Then nothing changes.”

 

“No, it can’t.  I’m sorry.”

 

He glanced at Varric.  “No, I.....I understand.”  His face twisted into a curious expression.  “Actually it makes quite a bit of sense.”  He grabbed her hand.  “It does not mean I will not continue to follow you.  I will, and you will always have my sword when you need it.”  And he dropped her hand and walked past them and down the stairs.

 

Hawke waited several long moments after Fenris was gone before turning on Varric.  “I honestly don’t know what to say right now, Varric.”

 

He chuckled humorlessly, feeling cold now that the heat of anger and jealousy had left him.  “Would it work if I told you that it wasn’t me but my evil twin that stomped up here like a pissed off, dwarf-sized Qunari?”

 

A look of disappointment crossed her face and she walked away from him to sit on the ledge of the building.  A few moments later, he joined her.  She hadn’t asked him to follow, but he knew if he had just left she would have never forgiven him.  Her turned back was not an insult to him, but an opening for him to take.  He grabbed it with both hands, stopping only to put Bianca safely on the ground nearby.  If Hawke was going to push him over the edge, he at least wanted Bianca to survive.

 

Hawke leaned back on her hands so she could tip her head to gaze at the stars.  Instead of following suit, he watched her.  Everything about her was tight - the line of her spine, her hands against the rough stone of the roof, the muscles in her arms and legs.  But her face showed no tension.  Hawke’s eyes were closed and she was breathing evenly.

 

“Hawke,” Varric said softly, no more than a whisper.  She didn’t respond, so he tried again.   _Third time’s a nug’s uncle_ , he thought before he said, “Elana, look at me.  I think I owe you an explanation, and an apology.”

 

And with painful slowness, she did.  An understanding lit the blue of her eyes with a fire that he’d never seen before.

 

“You idiot,” she whispered.

 

Varric cupped a hand around his ear, unable to suppress his smart aleck side.  “Sorry, what?”

 

As fast as lightning, she grabbed his collar and tugged him closer.  “You absolute fucking idiot.  What happened to my friend, Varric?  Who was this angry, _jealous_ dwarf who came charging up here tonight?  What happened to your one-liners that fly even in the worst situations?  What happened to the storyteller who regales people with tales of our adventures and misfortunes and loves and losses?”

 

Another tug, and Varric was sitting right next to her.  He was powerless to stop the torrent of emotions pouring out of her now. _Give it to me, Hawke_ , he thought. _Maker knows I deserve it_.  The only thing he did was to put one hand on top of hers, both of their hands resting on her leg.

 

She stopped for only a moment when he did that, then continued the litany of questions, her voice rising.  The air around her practically crackled, and Varric found himself very, very glad she wasn’t a mage.  “What happened, Varric?  Did the storyteller finally find himself part of the story?  Were you unsure of what to do?”  She leaned in, eyes alight.  “How long have you know me, Varric?  Over three years?  That’s three years of shit and more shit that we’ve been through together - the Deep Roads, dragons, darkspawn, fucking **ogres** ,” she spat, “and you didn’t think you could come to me and tell me you loved me?”

 

Her other hand came up and touched his face, a tentative thing he instantly savored.  Before he could respond, she ran right over him.  Hawke had to get it all out, or it was never getting said.  “And then here I am, sad and lonely and taking it out on all of you and acting like an absolute fuck.  And you forgive me!  Even after I nearly get myself killed - I had a million excuses, Varric. You would have enjoyed some of them.  I felt horrible about Bethany, about getting us trapped in the Deep Roads because I trusted Bartrand.  I felt even worse when I couldn’t give my mother everything - a whole family comfortably ensconced in her home, restoring honor to the Amell name.  

 

And then the jobs....so many jobs for so many people who just wanted to hire my sword, still thought of me as a dirty Fereldan who didn’t mind killing people.  So I took their money and I did their jobs and even after I was filthy stinking rich, their opinions of me didn’t change.  So I started to say fuck them, they didn’t flee the darkspawn in Lothering.  We were running for our lives from the Blight while our home burned to the ground, tainted by those things.  So what do they know about our lives? How can they judge us?" She lowered her eyes.  "And so we wound up in Kirkwall with Aveline, and I met you and Anders and Isabela and Merrill and Fenris and Sebastian and I thought, this could work.  This could work for all of us.  We could all find what we were looking for, and we could be **whole**.”

 

Both hands now reached for his face and he instinctively turned into one of them, revelling in the warmth coming from her.  Elana’s voice dropped into a whisper.  “No one told me I was going to have the hardest time with this. You’ve haunted my dreams, kept me awake at night, made me laugh and cry and feel safe.  You’ve always been there.”  She paused, gulping for air.  Varric gave her a moment, knowing that she was running out of steam.  He wouldn’t push her now, not when she was so close.  

 

“No one told me, after everything we’ve been through, that falling in love with you was what would push me over the edge.”  Her quick fingers grabbed the tie in his hair and pulled it free.  “Am I mad, Varric?  Is all this just crazy?”

 

His laugh was just on this side of wild and he was so relieved he almost lost his purchase on the roof’s edge.  He braced himself by running his hands down her arms.  “Crazy doesn’t begin to cover it, Hawke.”  His eyes met hers; he was trying desperately to convey everything he wanted to say through them.  “I just want you to know that I love your crazy.  And that I’m stupid, and sorry.  And when I find my evil twin, I’ll kill him for you so he can’t ever come back.”

 

Her laugh was rough around the edges but the velvet center of it slid into him.  “Elana.”  Her fingers wound through his hair.  “I think, after all this, you better use my first name.”  Her lips ghosted over his cheek.  “In my dreams, we’re wrapped up in my bed and you aren’t screaming my last name.”

 

One small turn of his head, and their lips met.  It was a simple thing, that first kiss.  It spoke of nothing more than pure affection and wonder - his, at the heat and softness of her lips, hers at how she still couldn't believe they'd both waited to do this.  They stayed like that for a long moment, simply feeling the warmth of each other.  It was beautiful and true and meant _yes_ and _please_ and _always_.

 

But Varric knew Elana and himself.  Passionate people don’t keep their kisses closed mouth. He needed tongue and teeth and hands everywhere.  Hunger and need unfurled in his belly like a beast.  He paused for just a second, suddenly worried.

 

“Haw- Elana, I need...”

 

“I know.”  She pulled back ever so slightly.  “Take your gloves off, Varric.”  

 

The gloves were stripped and tossed in the vicinity of Bianca.  Damn if he knew or cared where they landed.  And Bianca....would have to forgive him later.  She always did.

 

One hand dove into her hair, pulling her to him fiercely.  Their lips met again, this kiss the lustful, sinful cousin of their first.  There were tongues, and teeth, and _Ancestors_ , a soft groaning that shot straight to his groin.  His other hand found her shoulder, then her neck, and slid down.  Elana moaned into his mouth, urging his hand lower and his kiss deeper.

 

Strong fingers cupped her breast, his thumb gently stroking her nipple and that, plus his tongue in her mouth, were her undoing.  Need rose up and staked claim on her body and her brain.  Elana drug him from the edge and over toward the stairs, never breaking their kiss except to open the trapdoor.

 

The slam of her bedroom door startled Varric back into reality.  His head was swimming with scent and sound of her.  He hadn’t fully realized they had made it downstairs, let alone into her bedroom. Another sight shook him to the core.

 

"You brought Bianca with us?"

 

Elana shrugged easily, her fingers teasing the hem of her tunic.  "She's a huge part of your life. Didn't feel right, leaving her up there all alone." She raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you forgot her, especially since she is the jealous type."

 

"I may have been....distracted by someone a hell of a lot more beautiful."  He started to approach her, but he found himself being stalked, her body swaying toward him like every naughty dream he’d ever had of her come alive.  Slowly, she loosened the lacing in the front of her tunic. The gap gave Varric a painfully teasing glimpse of skin, but it wasn't nearly enough.  

 

Elana kept pushing him back into the room, not stopping when he backed into the bed.  She took him down with her, strong legs on either side of his hips.  Varric watched, breathless and heady with lust.  Her eyes had darkened but her teeth shone in the candlelight as she grinned at him.

 

"Well, this is a first," she said, laughing. "The dwarf merchant prince, speechless, trapped, and at my mercy."  She ran one finger down the gold ring in his right ear. "It's been a long, long time since I've had anyone in my bed." Leaning down, she ran her tongue from the base of his neck to his earlobe.  "I may need some help remembering all the moves."

 

His hands went to her hips, fingers massaging the muscles that flexed as she arched over him. "I'm a dwarf, love," he said huskily, "and we're known for our mines, our axes, our ale, and our supposed prowess in the bedroom."  One hand, warm with the deft fingers of a rogue, traveled up her body and quickly yanked the last of the lacing away.  Her shirt fell open, the top half revealing an expanse of creamy skin that left him with a dry mouth.  So much, yet not enough.  He needed to see all of her, now.

 

"Supposed prowess?" she choked out as he started to push one shoulder of her tunic down. "Have my daydreams been for naught? Will I learn nothing at your hands, Master Dwarf?"

 

"Beautiful," he replied, rising to gently push her back so he could get to his knees, "I will give you whatever you want, and then more."  He moved her, rougher than he meant to but she didn't seem to mind.  Rather, the insistent hands that pushed her down and were in her hair and on her breasts excited her, if her heavy breathing and widened eyes were proof of her lust.

 

"Do you think you can handle the skill of a master bowman?" He grabbed her tunic and pulled, ripping it down the middle before climbing on top of her, strong thighs straddling her hips.  He playfully swatted her hands as she grabbed for him.  A flick of his skilled fingers divested her of her breast band, and his sight was filled with pale, round flesh and soft pink nipples that were already peaked.

 

"It's not just Bianca I can make sing, love."

 

Elana's spine bowed, thrusting her breasts up as her hips rolled.  Varric moaned softly as he ran a callused fingertip over the nipple of her left breast.  Elana tossed her head, bottom lip pulled slightly between her teeth as he tormented her oh so sweetly.  Those strong fingers pulled and plucked, then switched to her other breast.  Elana's moans and breathy little pants were quickly undoing his restraint.

 

"Off," she said hoarsely, tugging at his jacket. "All of it, now, Varric."

 

"Easy, easy," he said, slowly lowering his head to her breast. "We're in no hurry."

 

"I beg to differ, dwarf," she said, her voice tight with need.  "I'm in a big fucking-"

 

Varric's tongue on her breast cut off her demands.

 

"Oh, sweet Andraste," she moaned, weaving her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

 

Varric's mouth left her red, hardened nipple, his face contorted into mock fury.  "I better not hear another name come from your lips unless it's mine."

 

"Then make me say it," she growled as she quickly sat up, making her breasts sway enticingly. Varric was momentarily distracted by the movement.  Elana took the opportunity to shove at the shoulders of his jacket and Varric shrugged it off.  Her quick hands pulled at his shirt, and soon he was stripped to his trousers and boots.  Her hands went to his chest, exploring, her nails scratching delicately over corded muscle, making him curse under his breath.

 

"Fair is fair," he said, fingers curling into the waist of her pants.  He stripped her, hands weaving soft patterns down her skin, her voice tumbling into moans and pleas as he pulled off her pants. Gentle hands slowly divested her of the knee-high boots he'd had more than a few heated dreams about (her in them and nothing else), then he reached for her smallclothes.

 

A series of images that flashed through his mind stayed his hand.

 

_She's taller than him, but not by the miles most humans are.  Her knees are hooked over his shoulders and he's taking his time, lips soothing the skin of her inner thigh where his stubble had  grazed her sensitive skin.  A shudder ran through her as he came closer to the wet, velvet center of her, and he chuckled, beyond pleased that he could make her shiver like that._

 

_At the first touch of his mouth, she grabbed for his hand and held it tight, even when she trembled and let loose a cry under the skilled ministrations of his lips and tongue._

 

"Varric? Is something wrong?"

 

Varric shook his head. "No, beautiful, not a thing." He left her only for a moment to get rid of the last barriers between him and her skin.

 

The sight of him, naked and climbing over her, made Hawke let out a surprised little cry.  He was magnificent, she thought, all hard muscle and broad, hairy chest and powerful legs.  The firelight glinted off his copper hair and gold jewelry and he looked like he belonged in one of his own more colorful tales about wanton lovers taking each other in the dark.  "You're amazing," she breathed, feeling the length of him pressing into her belly, scrambling her thoughts and making her moan.

 

Varric smiled at her, taking in the flush that was spreading over her pale, dewy skin.  He laid hot, open mouthed kisses over her shoulders, then across her collarbone and down her stomach, his big hands cupping her breasts, thumbs flicking over her nipples.  He reached the top of her smallclothes and tugged them down with his teeth, his hands leaving her breasts to skim over her stomach and come to rest on her hips.  She bucked against him and he pushed her back down, tutting at her eagerness.

 

"Patience, beautiful, patience," he whispered against her skin.

 

She squirmed under him, the hands in his hair leaving to yank his face up.  "Varric, I've never had anyone-"

 

He reached up and put a finger on her lips.  “Then you’ve never had anyone make love to you properly.”  He ducked his head and licked the inside of one thigh, marvelling at how the muscles quivered.  “I’ve told tales and lies and truths and everything in between.”  He licked the other inner thigh.  “What wickedness do you think this mouth can get into between your legs?”

 

Elana stopped - talking, moving, even breathing for a few moments.  The first impossibly warm, wet brush of his tongue across her lips rocked her, forcing her eyes to close and her head to go back onto the pillows.  The softest of sighs left her mouth and she gave into him, melting into the mattress and letting him explore her.  She reached blindly for his hand and he took it, holding it fast in his.

 

Varric began slowly.  He had to, for her sake and his.  His world consisted of her - the heady scent of her arousal, the warm wet of her skin under his tongue, the brush of hair against the bridge of his nose.  It was an accident the first time he rubbed against her clit and she howled, her hips bucking up, forcing his face deeper between her legs.  He pushed her hips down again, a soft growl from him keeping her in check.  But the next time he rubbed against that bundle of nerves, and every time after that, was no accident.

 

She rode the sensations of his tongue on her.  Varric loved this part of lovemaking - giving pleasure through this intimate way, making Elana cry out wordlessly as he licked and suckled her.  A steady stream of cries vibrated through his ears and hit him straight in the heart, then flashed down to his groin.  Cocking his head slightly, he used the angle to push his tongue inside her.

 

“ _Varric!_ "

 

And she thought he’d be screaming first, he thought smugly.  He pushed again, his face pressed against her until he could go no further.  His other hand slid around her hip and underneath her ass, which was trembling, just like the rest of her.  This canted her hips up enough to give him more room to work.  His jaw ached, but he didn’t care.  He was fully under a haze of lust, drug down there by her cries and moans, the scent of her, the feel of her skin and the taste of her need.  And the Varric pulled back only to latch onto her clit with his mouth and press a thick finger inside her.

 

That was all it took.  Elana broke apart, crying out her release on the syllables of his name, pulsing around his finger and trembling so fiercely he thought she might shatter under him.

 

Varric planted a gentle kiss on her hip as he slowly, carefully pulled away so he could watch her come back to reality.  And she did come back, piece by piece, breath by breath.  He looked down and realized that she had never let go of his hand.  It lay slack in his now, but he could see the red marks she had left just moments ago.

 

When Elana opened her eyes, she saw Varric watching her, awe written on his features.  A quiet smile was on his face as he said, “Hey there, beautiful.”

 

“Oh, Varric,” she said, running a hand up his chest.  “I can’t even...”

 

He made a show of examining his nails.  “I know.  You don’t have to say anything, Elana.  They don’t call me silvertongued for nothing, you know.”

 

She laughed.  “Well, aren’t we smug?”  When he shrugged, the movement brought her attention to his body.  “I bet I can help with that.”

 

Varric opened his mouth to tell her not to bother, that it had been her pleasure he had been seeking, but her soft hand on him halted his protest.  She was unpracticed, but her strength and dextrous fingers made up for lack of experience.  He rocked into her hand, his need a real thing that was deciding to claw its way up his body and sit on his brain like a goddamned little golem, blocking out all coherent thought.

 

She stroked him a few more times, watching the way his face contorted in pleasure.  Varric was surprised when she suddenly stopped, squirming out from underneath him to rise up on her knees.  She pulled on his erection as her lips met his.  He tasted like ale and night air and her, she thought.  

 

“I’m very worried about this,” she whispered against his lips.  “It look painful.”

 

He laughed, a short, rough sound.  “I think any help you can give me would be appreciated right now, love.”

 

She responded by shoving him down on the bed.  He landed with an “Oomph” in the pile of pillows she had just been laying on.  Elana laughed as he struggled to pull himself free, but he stopped when she climbed on top of him, brushing her wet center over his length.

 

“Oh, Elana,” he said hoarsely.  “Do that again.”  She did, and he moaned.  “You minx.”

 

“Not done with you yet, dwarf,” she said with a laugh.  He thought she would tease him again, making good on her promise to get him to scream her name, but she went straight for the kill shot.  It was a very Hawke thing to do.

 

A slight twist of her hips, and she sank down on him, biting her lip and moaning as she took him in.

 

 _Fuck, Maker, Ancestors, take me now_ , he thought as he watched her writhe above him.  Elana braced herself on his broad shoulders for leverage, rising then sinking down again, and he cursed sharply, out loud this time.

 

Elana gave a pleased laugh.  She was focused on wringing pleasure from him.  He made a pained face and she stopped.  “What’s wrong?”

 

His hands gripped her hips hard and he bucked underneath her.  “Not a goddamn thing.  That wasn’t pain on my face, love, that was pleasure.”  One hand briefly cupped a breast, pinching her nipple before trailing down her abdomen.  He slipped his hand between them so he could press a finger against her.  She shoved on his shoulders, hard, and swiveled her hips in a way that had him groaning.

 

Elana picked up the pace, the muscles in her lithe thighs standing out in the dim light as she pushed both of them to the edge.  Varric traced his hand down one leg and back up, feeling the fine sheen of sweat on her skin.  He put that hand back on her hip to help steady her.  

 

“I love you,” she whispered as she started to spiral into that abyss of pleasure.

 

“Not more than I love you,” he whispered back.  He thrust up into her one more time and fell apart, her name on his lips as white light exploded behind his eyes and he spilled into her.

 

Elana cried out, a sharp, hoarse shout that trailed off into his name as her internal muscles squeezed him for all he was worth.  Then she slumped forward into the warm embrace of his arms.

 

“Got you,” he said into her hair, one shaky hand brushing errant strands from her eyes.

 

"Mmmm," she moaned into his shoulder.

 

Varric snickered. "Something the matter, beautiful?"

 

She bit him lightly for his impertinence. He hooked a leg over her hip and drew her closer, not caring that they were practically stuck together already.

 

"Warm," she muttered sleepily. "You're very warm."

 

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.  "Well, we're a compact breed. We just exude heat."

 

Elana snorted. "Compact my ass."

 

"Did you just make a reference to my dick, woman?"

  
Elana replied by squeezing his ass and he chuckled, settling in for what he knew would be the best sleep he'd ever gotten.


	6. A Song For Lost, and One For Those Who Have Been Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric talks dirty to Hawke, and Fenris finds solace in the arms of someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Explicit rating for this chapter. 
> 
> This one veered off the path I had originally set it on, and instead of pushing it back in place, I decided to just write and see where the chapter went. No idea where this fic is stopping, but I do have the epilogue written, so at least another chapter or two.

Chapter 6:  A Song For Lost, and One For Those Who Have Been Found

 

_“When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. "It's all right" we whisper, "I'm here, I love you." and we lie: "I'll never leave you." For just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad.”_   
_― Neil Gaiman, Neil Gaiman's Midnight Days_

* * *

 

A soft kiss to the hollow of her throat had Elana bolting upright, reaching for the small blade she kept secreted in the headboard of her bed.

 

Varric grabbed her wrist just before she closed her hand around the dagger’s handle.  He tried hard to suppress a chuckle as he said slowly, “Easy there, tiger.  It’s just me.”  He brought her hand down, bladeless, and put it on his shoulder.  It was still dark in the room, the candles and fire long burned out but Varric could see hints of the first rays of daylight around the corners of her heavy drapes.  That little bit of light danced around them, slashing against her bed and striping her skin.  “Bad dreams?”

 

She shook her head, trying to quiet the rapid tattoo her heart beat in her chest.  “No, I’m sorry Varric.  I’m not used to-”

 

“Waking up with a handsome dwarf warming your bed?”  He moved closer to her, letting her hand drift down his chest.  They were both gloriously naked, too tired and worn from their bout of lovemaking last night to bother with clothes.  If he had it his way, they’d never leave her bedroom and or put clothes on, ever again.  The feel of her body on his sent his mind spiraling.

 

And besides, he usually slept naked.  It just made sense that she should be too.

 

She stifled a chuckle.  “Something like that.”  Elana leaned back as his body gently pushed her into the pillows.  The warmth of him covered her and she arched just slightly, unable to suppress the way her body reacted to his touch.  “I didn’t mean to jump like that.  You just startled me.”

 

“Makes sense,” he reasoned. “I mean, I know I’m good but you gave me an entirely new thing to be egotistical about.”  He paused to wink at her.  I’m the only man in the Free Marches to knock out the infamous Hawke, and I did it with my bare hands and an eager cock.”

 

She laughed, the sound rich and echoing in her bedchamber.  She playfully shoved at him and he caught her hands in his, smiling at the sight of her already flushed skin and hair unruly from sex and sleep.  Gentle fingers traced down her wrists, feeling the fine bones underneath her skin.  Elana squirmed, his touch tickling as it reached the insides of her elbows and dragged up to her shoulders.   

 

Softly, he put his hand on her throat, feeling the velvet of her skin under the pads of his fingers.  Varric traced down to the hollow of her throat with his thumb, enjoying the way she shivered at the delicacy of his touch.  She hummed her approval and pressed back into him, one leg coming to curl around his thigh.

 

“You’re ruining my plans, Elana,” he murmured into her hair.

 

“What plans?  I wasn’t aware of any plans.”  Her hand settled in the small of his back, urging him forward and onto her fully.

 

“What plans, she asks!” Varric said, gazing down at her, his whiskey colored eyes dancing.  “I had this whole scheme involving breakfast in bed and a massage so I could sweep you off your feet.”  He grinned wickedly.  “Then I’d tumble you into bed again and we’d stay there until tonight, when we'd go down to The Hanged Man and drink and play cards.”  One finger traced her lips and she surprised him by taking it in her mouth, sucking gently.  

 

He hissed, eyes flashing.  “And the whole time we were there,” he continued, voice breaking slightly as he watched her suck on the digit, “I’d have one hand on the table, visible, and I’d be laughing and carrying on with Isabela or teasing Daisy.  But it’s a distraction technique...they don’t need to know what trouble the other hand, my good hand, would be getting into.”  He reached down, fingers brushing across one puckered nipple, making her gasp and release his finger.  His golden voice had dropped into a register that only made an appearance when all the blood rushed south.  It made her shiver, hearing him affected like that.  “And you’d let it happen.  You wouldn’t, couldn’t stop my hand crawling up your thigh and into your pants.  That naughty little thrill keeping your mouth shut and your eyes on your cards because you knew if you so much as whimpered, everyone at the table would know I was slowly pressing a finger inside you, crooking it just so-”

 

Elana’s whole body shuddered and she wound her fist in his hair.  Pulling hard, her lips met his jaw, her tongue swirling over his earlobe.  “I’m not seeing where your plans have been disrupted, Varric.”

 

He groaned as her tongue traced the whorls of his ear.  “How could you not?”  He pulled back abruptly.  “Breakfast, woman.  I’m a dwarf, I can’t tumble you this early without at least a three course meal.”  And he quickly leaned down to latch his mouth on hers.

 

She met his hungry kiss eagerly, her fingers scraping down his sides to feel stomach muscles clench at her touch.  The hot length of him was pressing into her leg, so she put both hands on his ass to bring him forward.

 

“So eager,” he panted.

 

“It’s your fault,” she shot back, her wandering hand sliding around his front to cup him.  

 

Varric let out one long moan as her talented fingers rolled and caressed him.  “Holy Ancestors, woman, you’re killing me.”

 

“You like it,” she growled in his ear softly, making him curse rather creatively.  She brought her legs up, bending at the knees to put her feet solidly on the mattress, and that was all the invitation he needed.  

 

One thrust and he was sheathed inside her fully.  Elana wrapped her legs around his hips, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled back experimentally.

 

“Look at me, beautiful.”  His voice was hushed, as if in awe of her.  And he was.  She was hot and tight, still not fully used to the length of him, but her body welcomed him when he thrust back into her so he could seat his hips inside her soft thighs.

 

Elana opened her eyes and saw him - the strong jaw, copper hair, molten eyes and slightly crooked nose.  All of that, and the rest of him, were hers.  She needed nothing else.

 

As if he understood, Varric leaned down, smothering her with a kiss that left her breathless.

 

They moved slowly, both taking delight in the little cries and moans that they drew from each other.  Hands wandered aimlessly, learning sensitive spots like his sides or her neck.  Kisses, both needy and gentle, reddened their lips.  

 

Varric was getting close when she, acting on some base instinct, grabbed one of his hands and pulled it down to rest on her breast.

 

She whispered his name and he was lost, gone in a flush of pleasure so intense it rocked him into her.  And she opened and took him in, fully and completely, before falling over the edge with him.

 

* * *

 

“Why do you always win at cards?”  

 

Isabela laughed.  “Because I cheat, kitten.”  She waved Norah over for another ale.  “And bring my friend one, too.”

 

Merrill tried to wave off the ale when Norah brought it, but Isabela kicked her under the table and said, “Drink, my little elf friend.  Maybe it will steel you enough and you’ll beat me this time.”

 

Merrill took a gulp and shuddered at the taste.  “You think it will work?”

 

Isabela’s eyes glinted.  “Doubt it, but anything is worth a shot at this point.  You’re a terrible card player.”

 

Merrill pouted prettily, Isabela thought.  It was a shame she didn’t feel anything but friendship for the Dalish mage.  She knew Merrill wasn’t fragile, despite her attempts at appearing so, but she just didn’t picture the woman like she did Hawke - naked and flushed.

 

But it was just a daydream, one Isabela indulged in when she was unsatisfied with a lover or feeling lonely.  And she did feel lonely, more than she would ever let on.  The rough and tumble life she lived covered a lot of loss and sadness.

 

“May I join you?” a deep, familiar voice asked her from right.

 

Isabela whipped her head around and saw Fenris standing there.  “Why, Fenris, you needn’t ask.”  She patted the seat beside her.  “Have a seat.”

 

He ignored the open spot beside the pirate and chose a chair at the foot of the table, close but still far away enough and with ready access to the door.

 

Fenris had contemplated staying in the mansion today, drinking away Hawke’s quiet rejection and slowly seething at how she’d chosen the dwarf over him.

 

It hadn’t been a complete shock, he thought when he’d woken up this morning.  He knew they were close, that she trusted Varric with not just her life, but her stories and her laughter and her heart.  That he could understand - Varric had been there before he’d ever crossed her path.

 

He actually liked Varric, even with the other man’s quietly terrifying ability to suss out problems even before you spoke.  Fenris sometimes felt the dwarf’s eyes following him, burning holes in his black leather as the man tried to figure him out.  Good luck, he thought morbidly that morning they left for the fated Wounded Coast job.  Most of the time, he didn’t understand himself or his anger.  The thought had Fenris had marching ahead of the others, already tired of the chatter from Anders about the poor, hunted mages and not wanting to watch how Hawke and Varric danced around each other.  

 

 _Why was their attraction to one another so obvious to him?_ he found himself wondering as they wrestled through the sand and brushy undergrowth of the Wounded Coast.  And the answer came just as quickly as the question had - he was attracted to her. On some level he’d known that for a while.  He’d catch himself watching her hips sway as she walked, or the way she lightly touched the end of her sword’s handle before drawing it fully.

 

He’d spent more than one cold, dreary night, the walls closing in around him, thinking about her hands.  She used them to heft her sword, punch teeth from the mouths of bandits, and tighten the buckles on her armor.  But he’d also seen Hawke use those hands in kindness - to give an unfortunate Lowtown child a piece of silver, or to brush the hair from her sister’s face.  She’d even touched him with those hands a few times, a steadying grip on his arm when he was arguing with Anders, a gentle brush of fingers over a wound he’d taken to the forehead one damp night at the docks.

 

He’d shuddered at the memory of her hands on his skin, the way she looked at him with no disgust in her eyes, just concern.  He had her worry, and sometimes her anger...and he was about to have it again as he stopped dead and faced Anders.

 

“Enough of your prattle, mage,” he growled.  “We are here to fight darkspawn, not wail about the plight of mages.”

 

Anders sputtered, drawn up short by the elf’s quick turnabout.  “I was talking to Hawke, not you,” he spat vehemently.

 

Hawke had sighed and shoved them apart, threatening both with bodily harm if they didn’t shut up.  The flat of her palm rested over his heart and he was afraid she would feel how hard it beat in her proximity, giving him away and taking her from him.  He jumped back as if burned by her touch, not missing the perplexed look on her face before he stomped forward, wanting this day to be over with so he could go home and ransack the wine cellar.

 

It hadn’t ended the way it was supposed to, he thought bitterly as he fingered the cards Isabela silently slid his way.  Hawke wasn’t supposed to get hurt, she wasn’t supposed to almost die.  He had made a terrible error - his mind had been so consumed with trying to figure out how to tell Hawke how he felt that he missed the opportunity to rush past her and take down the ogre himself.  He’d gotten her gravely injured and all because of his stupid infatuation with someone who couldn’t return his feelings.

 

“You’re awfully quiet today, Fenris,” Isabela said lightly, shaking him out of the corners of his mind.  “More than normal.”

 

“It’s nothing,” he said, throwing down a spade.  Merrill chirped in glee and gathered the cards, and their silver, from the table.

 

The game went on like normal, Fenris brooding and Isabela trying to catch the attention of a particularly handsome gentleman who had just walked in.  Merrill was reaping the benefit of their distracted minds, making small noises of delight when Fenris absently tossed down a losing hand and added another coin to her growing pile.

 

A while later, Merrill walked home with her newly won silver carefully tucked away, leaving Fenris and Isabela at the table.

 

“Another round?” she asked, smiling.

 

“Cards or ale?”

 

She moved her chair next to his.  “Both.”  She reached out to trace a finger over one of the sharp points on his greaves.  “I’m thinking the ale will loosen your tongue, and the cards will loosen your coin purse.”

 

He chuckled stiffly, leaning back and letting his head hit the chair.  “I’m afraid I don’t have much coin left.”

 

Her smile grew wider.  “Then we’ll have to bet on something else.”

 

Fenris lost that game to the pirate, and that’s how he wound up in her bed in the middle of the day, willingly losing himself in the scent of her hair and letting her wrap dark arms and legs around him.

 

They were both lost, he thought later as Isabela slept, her head on his chest and her hair tickling his throat.  Maybe it was possible to find solace in the arms of someone who understood exactly what it felt like to be adrift.


	7. What Might Have Been, What Still Could Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An untold story of what could have been and what already existed, exploring the relationship between Anders and Sebastian

Chapter 7:  What Might Have Been, What Still Could Be

 

_“We...we could be friends.'_

  _We COULD be rare specimens of an exotic breed of dancing African elephants, but we're not. At least, I'M not.”_

_― Neil Gaiman, Coraline_

* * *

 

Anders ran a weary hand down his face, noticing too late that he’d smeared elfroot on his cheek.  He pulled sticky fingers away and wiped them on a rag he’d discarded earlier.  Sighing, he started to clean the bottles and bowls that had slowly grown into a small mountain after a long day of healing wounds.

 

He was seeing more and mages come to the clinic, and while he appreciated their trust, he was wary when they approached him with pleading eyes and stories about their lives as apostates.  Any of them could be spies for the templars and that’s all it would take.  He would be hauled away and locked in the Gallows, and everything would be for naught.  Such thoughts were completely contradictory to how vehemently he defended mages in everyday life, but he couldn’t help the suspicion.

 

_I would not let that happen.  If you are captured, then Kirkwall and the Free Marches are doomed to be victims of the templars.  The next time you see a templar, you should kill him, not run._

 

Anders ground the heel of one hand into his forehead, knowing the gesture was futile.  Justice talked to him on occasion like this, and until the spirit got his say, Anders was helpless to shut off the torrent.

 

Justice spoke again, knowing that Anders was not going to fight him.   _It is time to stop waiting.  You must act, and soon._  A pause, and then _, You know what will happen if you do not._

 

Anders huffed.   _Yes, I do_ , he thought angrily. _You’ll overrun me and use my body to do your dirty work._  

 

He put both hands down on a table and hung his head.  I am such a fool, he thought bitterly.  So stupid to think that this spirit wasn’t a burden, but a blessing.

 

“Anders?”

 

He looked up quickly to see Sebastian standing just inside the door of the clinic.  Just bloody great.  He sent a glance skyward as if to ask the Maker very simply, Why?

 

“Something I can do for you, Vael?”  His gaze traveled over the Chantry brother with a practiced eye, looking for injuries obvious and not so obvious.  “Did Hawke take you out and get you beat up again?”

 

Sebastian stiffened slightly.  “No,” he said slowly, coming closer and looking around.  “I haven’t seen Hawke since she came by the Chantry to apologize to me a few days ago.”

 

Anders raised an eyebrow in surprise.  “She did the same with me, earlier in the week.”

 

Sebastian nodded.  “She mentioned that she was coming to see you after leaving the Chantry.”

 

They stood in the awkward silence for a few moments and Anders caught himself eyeing the archer closely.  He didn’t agree with Sebastian’s belief in Chantry and the way he defended that spineless Grand Cleric.  But he could appreciate the dedication behind his belief.  They were not so different, he and Sebastian.  They’d never see eye to eye on many things, but at least he knew the archer was, underneath his blind ignorance, a good man.

 

It helped that the man’s aim with his bow was almost as good as Varric’s.  He chuckled slightly, remembering the one and only time Vael had challenged the dwarf to an archery contest.  That was not a contest, he thought, but a slaughter.  Sebastian was good, had to be if he intended to go back to Starkhaven and reclaim his lands.  But Varric was a master, and he and Bianca made as deadly a pair on the battlefield as Hawke and her sword.

 

He also remembered the way Hawke had watched the pair compete, her eyes darting between them but lingering on Varric.  Hard to miss, that glint in her eyes as she watched Varric take down target after target.  He was ready to lay down money that day that they would wind up together.  Like everyone else in their group, he admired, hell, even lusted after, Hawke, but he could never give her the life or love she deserved. She wanted Varric, and Anders was not the kind of man who could afford intimate entanglements.  He already had one.  He and Justice were joined, forever....whether he liked it or not.

 

Frustrated, Anders gripped the edges of the table hard, feeling the rough wood cut into his palms.  “Did you come here for a reason, Vael?”

 

“I came down because I was wanting to help with your patients,” Sebastian said, taking a step toward a table overloaded with herbs.  “Part of my duty as a Chantry brother is to help the sick.”

 

“I know that,” Anders snapped, regretting his tone when he saw Vael flinch.  Maker, the man acted like he was going to sling a fireball at him.  Even if he wanted to, he barely had the energy to clean up the place. Besides, Hawke would have his head if he went off on someone in their group. The one time he and Fenris had nearly come to blows, Hawke had shoved herself between them and clocked them both upside the head.

 

“And since I don’t see any patients right now,” Sebastian continued, walking around another table, “I thought I may be able to help clean up.”

 

The response was out of his mouth before his brain could stop him.  “Why would you want to help me?  I’m a mage, an apostate who treats other apostates,” Anders spat, slamming one bowl into another.  “I thought Chantry brothers and sisters were only interested in the sick and poor if they were worthy.”

 

Sebastian held a hand up, anger flaring in his eyes.  “Then you obviously don’t know what the Chantry does.  We’re all the Maker’s children, Anders, therefore we are all worthy..”  He took a step closer, not wanting to incite the mage.  “I may not agree with your methods, but I do think that the templars can be a bit....overzealous in the way they handle mages.”  He picked up an empty vial.  “And I want to help.  You do the Maker’s work in this dank place, but I never hear you complain about the conditions.”

 

Anders sighed.  He was being an ass, and he couldn’t afford to turn down the free help.  Waving a hand at the table Sebastian was standing beside, he said, “All right, prince, if you want to get your hands dirty, I’ll take your help.”  He picked up an empty bowl beside him and said, “Just stack all the bowls together, and put all the vials and bottles in the boxes along the far wall.  I’ll wash everything up tomorrow-”

 

Sebastian cut him off.  “Nonsense.  Give me what needs done and I’ll take care of it.”

 

Anders opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it.  “Fine.”  He jerked his head to the right.  “Washroom’s back there and I heated the water, it should still be hot.  There’s soap and towels too.  I’ll start bringing all this,” and he gestured around him, “back to you.”

 

Sebastian nodded and turned to make his way to the back when Anders called out, “I appreciate your assistance, Vael.”

 

He looked back at the mage.  “It is my pleasure.”

 

Anders waited until Sebastian disappeared around the corner before huffing.  His pleasure?  The man comes down here in his shiny white armor, argues with him, then offers to wash a pile of grimy, sticky bowls and bottles?  Anders could think of many things that would be pleasurable, none of which involved Darktown, healing, arguing with Chantry brothers or sticky bowls.

 

Well, there was that one thing with honey, but that was a fantasy he’d never actually indulged in.

 

Sighing, he waited a few moments before carrying in a stack of bowls.  Sebastian had already set to work.  His bow and wrist guards sat in a corner and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his tunic.  As Anders approached, he heard the man begin to hum an old ballad that he recognized as one that had been popular when he was a child; a story about star-crossed lovers, forever doomed because their families hated each other.

 

 _Tale as old as time_ , Anders thought before setting the bowls to Sebastian’s right.  Sebastian nodded in acknowledgement and started to dump the bowls into the basin.  He grabbed a sea sponge and the bar of soap and began to scrub.

 

They worked like that, in perhaps not companionable, but not entirely awkward silence.  Sebastian washing, Anders bringing more bowls and drying what Sebastian was finished with.  Sebastian switched up his song choices, sometimes a children’s ditty Anders might recall with fondness, or a song for separated lovers.  He knew each one Sebastian hummed quietly, noticing that the man could carry a tune.  

 

He tried not to watch Vael, but it was difficult.  He didn’t spend much time with Sebastian and he was now noticing things that he hadn’t before - the way he held himself, tall and proud, for example.  But his eyes still had a haunted look to them.  Anders understood that, he was haunted every waking minute.  His eyes alighted on the way Sebastian was tackling the job of washing bowls.  He was efficient, thorough, not unlike the way he shot arrows into their enemies.  Anders couldn’t help but wonder, having heard some stories about how Sebastian was when he was younger ( _wild and lustful, drinking and whoring and gambling his days and nights away_ ), if the Chantry hadn’t sucked out some of his passion.

 

A strange thought crossed Anders’ mind - he and Sebastian would have probably had quite a bit in common in their youth.  He hadn’t always been this dour, hateful person and he was warming to the thought that he and Sebastian, had they ever met in their past lives, may have actually been friends.  Maybe they would have found common ground - ale, cards, a love of local gossip, swapping stories of past adventures and exploits, both every day and in the bedroom.

 

And just maybe, they would have found more in common in the bedroom.

 

Anders groaned inwardly.  Oh, now that was not the kind of thoughts he needed to be having.  Though he had to admit that Sebastian was an attractive man.  Pity he was a Chantry brother, and pity Anders could barely convince Justice that his clinic was necessary.  Heavens forfend he have a love life.  The few daydreams he’d had about Hawke had sent the spirit into a rage.  He couldn’t begin to think about what would happen if he took a lover, especially a man of the cloth.  

 

Eyes sliding to watch the man’s hands move, he observed the way his nimble fingers grabbed soap and bowls.  Strong hands and forearms led into biceps that were covered, but Anders imagined they were taut with muscle from pulling back bows.  Hell, he was ogling the man’s _forearms_.  Bloody hell, he was harder up than he realized.

 

“I hope I am not bothering you with my humming,” Sebastian said suddenly, startling Anders out of his reverie.

 

Anders jumped, dropping the bowl he’d been drying.  It hit the ground and shattered.  It had been one of the few pottery bowls Anders had in the clinic.  “What?  No, you weren’t bothering me,” he said quickly, bending down so he could clean the mess up.

 

Sebastian stooped too, wanting to help.  “Here, let me,” the man said reaching for the pieces at the same time Anders did.  Sebastian was just a hair faster, but the shard slipped in his grip and cut down the pad of his forefinger.  Hissing softly, Sebastian pulled back to examine the cut.  It was deep, and on the hand he used to pull back his bowstring.

 

“Let me have a look,” Anders said reaching for Sebastian’s hand.  On instinct, Sebastian pulled away but the look on Anders’ face made him bring his hand back to the mage.  “You’re not afraid of a little healing magic, are you Brother?” Anders said, trying not to spit out every word.  Sebastian’s reaction had made him angry, but he was also offended and a little hurt that even after fighting battles side by side, Sebastian still didn’t trust even his most harmless magic.

 

“No, I’m not,” Sebastian said, standing.  Anders followed suit, motioning him to a nearby chair.  Sebastian sat down and watched Anders closely.  Not that he was entirely suspicious of magic, but he knew the mage shared his body and soul with what he considered to be a dangerous spirit.  Vengeance was not always a good thing - he knew this from personal experience.

 

Anders all but ignored him and said coldly, “This may take a minute. You’ve cut yourself pretty deeply.”  The green light of Anders’ healing magic began to swirl around the mage’s hands and he cautiously came closer to Sebastian.

 

To the archer’s credit, he didn’t flinch when the magic twined around his hand, slowly knitting the torn muscle, then the skin.

 

After a few minutes, the light faded - around Sebastian's hand and in Anders' eyes.  Anders slumped forward, pitching into Sebastian.  He’d used the very last of his mana reserves; it was extremely dangerous for a mage to completely drain all of his energy.  

 

Sebastian caught the other man, a look of concern on his face.  “Anders!” he said, shocked as the mage’s eyes rolled back into his head and he became a boneless weight that was difficult for Sebastian to prop up.

 

Struggling under the other man’s bulk, Sebastian managed to pick the mage up and gently put him on a nearby cot.  He hadn’t been expecting that - for Anders to use the last of his mana on someone he didn’t even like was....oddly humbling, if not unexpected.  Sebastian believed there was a kind heart inside the mage, but he and Anders were not friends.  What joined them was their mutual respect and admiration for Hawke.  She was the cohesive glue for their unit.  Some, like Isabela and Varric, genuinely liked the rest of their group members and were friends themselves (if you could call that odd relationship a friendship).  But he and Anders were not like that.  Hawke was who kept them together.

 

And Sebastian wasn’t blind to the way everyone in their little band looked at Hawke.  He’d even caught himself staring at her.  She was so brave, so kind that it was impossible to ignore her.  He knew she was beautiful but he tried to suppress the urge to watch her walk away, to look elsewhere when she flipped her hair out of her face, or to not listen when her laughter rang out, clear as Chantry bells.

 

He turned quickly and went back to the washroom.  He needed to occupy his thoughts with something other than Hawke. Fortunately, there was a mage passed out not 20 paces from him.  Sebastian wet a clean cloth and placed it on Anders’ forehead and waited.  He knew about conventional healing but this had occurred because of magic.  That was a world fairly unknown to the Prince of Starkhaven, but practically otherworldly to a brother of the Chantry.

 

Sebastian turned to prayer as he waited.  When his prayers were finished and Anders still hadn’t woken, he started looking a little more closely at the mage.  He was thinner than he remembered, as though the daily toll of healing an almost endless tide of patients was pushing Anders to his very limits.  Tonight’s incident was certainly proof enough that the man wasn’t eating or sleeping properly.  On closer examination, he was so gaunt that his already high cheekbones looked almost skeletal in his wan face.

 

Chantry training told him that he should be helping Anders more in the clinic.  Concern for a fellow human being told him that he should be checking up on the man, helping Hawke to bring him meals and force him to sleep.

 

Worry for someone who may not be a friend, but was certainly a brother-in-arms, told Sebastian that he should try to find some common ground with the man.  

 

If he’d been the Sebatian of old, he would have found Anders attractive, bought him a drink or two, wooed him, then bedded him.  He could chalk it up to the lingering effect of Lady Harimann’s desire demon, but Sebastian knew that Anders was the kind of man he would have been deeply attracted to...was still attracted to.  The Chantry hadn’t changed every single part of him.  Sebastian sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead and trying to will such lustful thoughts away.  It didn’t really work, even after a series of fervent prayers.

 

It took almost three quarters of an hour, but eventually Anders did wake up.  Eyes fluttering open, the first thing he saw was Sebastian staring down at him, concern written all over his tanned face.  Confused, Anders tried to speak, but Sebastian cut him off.

 

“You fainted, Anders.  I stayed to make sure you woke back up.”  Sebastian examined his healed finger, then looked down again at him.  “You shouldn't have done that, using the last of your energy on me.  My hand would have healed just fine on its own.”  Anders struggled to sit up, but a gentle hand pushed him back down.  “Rest, Anders.  You can’t keep going the way you are now, you’ll die from exhaustion.”  

 

“But the clinic-”

 

Sebastian settled into his chair and said firmly, “There are no patients here right now.  If anyone shows up, I will inform them that you are in need of rest and they can come back tomorrow.”  He pointed a finger at the other man.  “Sleep.  You need it.  I’ll send for someone to bring food around when you wake again.”  Sebastian’s eyes hardened.  “And I’m staying, so don’t try to kick me out.”

 

Anders started to argue, but the determined look on Sebastian’s face cut him off.  He was right, he thought grimly, I’m pushing myself too hard.  Taking the pillow and blanket Sebastian offered him, Anders stretched out on the cot and closed his eyes.

 

They might not be friends, but he trusted that Sebastian would keep his word.  It would have to be enough.

 

* * *

 

They had tried to be sneaky, but Leandra caught Varric coming out of Hawke’s room later that day.  The sight of Hawke’s mother smiling at him brought Varric up short, his hands freezing on the belt he’d been adjusting.  Maker’s balls, he must looked like he just tupped Hawke and was leaving after getting his fill.  

 

“M’lady,” he said, trying for nonchalance.

 

“A rather proper greeting after I just caught you sneaking out of my daughter’s room,” she teased.  Varric stiffened but she just laughed.  “Now, Varric, we talked about this.  I practically pushed you at Elana.”  She gave his shoulder a squeeze.  “I’m glad my daughter has found some happiness.  Her life hasn’t been an easy one.  And if you are the reason that she is smiling today, then I am glad for it, and for you.”

 

Hawke chose that moment to ascend the stairs.  The sight of her mother smiling fondly at her lover was beyond strange, but Hawke was just happy Mother hadn’t come over to admonish them for making too much noise last night or this morning.  She approached the pair and bent to kiss her mother on the cheek.

 

Leandra placed a soft hand on her daughter’s face.  She could easily embarrass her daughter in this moment but chose not to.  Elana’s reddened cheeks didn’t need any more encouragement.  “No jobs today?” she asked.

 

Elana shook her head.  “No jobs.  I told Merrill I’d meet her at The Hanged Man for a meal. The others will probably come by later for cards.”

 

Leandra glanced around the mansion.  “Why don’t you ask them all to come here?  I’m attending a party at one of the neighbors’.”  She winked at Varric, who stifled a smile.  “I might even stay there, if a man catches my fancy.”

 

That made Varric laugh and Hawke shot him a look.  Coughing to cover it up, he gave Hawke the biggest shit-eating grin he could manage.  The look that earned him promised _just you wait, lover, just you wait._  Oh, he’d be waiting all right.  She might even spank him for his insolence.

 

Leandra let the pair go, watching as they tried hard to look casual.  Leandra was just happy to see her daughter happy and flushed with the pleasure of a new love.

 

Hawke and Varric talked on their way to Lowtown, remarking on different merchants they passed and Hawke asking Varric if he had a new story to entertain the patrons of The Hanged Man with.  Her gave her a preview of the tale he had in mind.  It was full of rude jokes and metaphors and made her laugh.  Varric hadn’t really intended to tell that tale tonight, since he knew the patrons who would likely be there preferred stories of battle over the more jovial stories in his repertoire, but he just wanted to make her laugh and smile.

 

Varric reached for the pub’s door when a figure collided with them.  Sebastian looked up, startled.

 

“Sebastian,” Hawke said, surprise titling her voice slightly higher.  Varric was just as shocked, Choir Boy never came to the pub unless he had to, or was being drug around by Hawke.

 

“Hawke, Varric,” Sebastian said courteously.  “I didn’t realize you would be here tonight.”  He pushed the door open for them and they filed in.

 

Hawke scanned the room, spotting familiar faces at a table in the corner.  “Merrill asked us to come down but I figured we could stay for a while, then we’ll drag everyone back to my home.”  She smiled at him.  “You will come, right?”

 

“Certainly,” Sebastian replied, his eyes darting away from her and landing on the table.  “I was actually invited tonight and decided I’d had enough of the Chantry’s dull walls.”  He nodded to them both and walked past them, heading for the table.

 

Varric turned to Hawke.  “He was invited?  We invite him all the time but he never shows.”

 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Hawke said softly and Varric turned to follow her gaze.  Sebastian had settled next to Anders, who silently passed him some cards.  

 

“You could say that again,” Varric replied.

 

They stayed for a while, drinking (everyone but Sebastian) and playing cards.  Anders was oddly quiet and Fenris, who had spent a rare day outside of his mansion, was acting unusual as well.  At one point during a particularly raucous round, Varric had leaned over and whispered his observations to Hawke, who had nodded and replied that she had no idea what was going on.  But she had her suspicions, which she shared later with the dwarf when they were pressed up against each other, sweaty and flushed from their exertions.

 

After a while, they moved the party to Hawke’s home.  Anders tried to bow out, but Hawke insisted, slinging an arm around his thin shoulders and saying that if he didn’t come, she’d just pick him up and take him there.  It was a not so subtle barb to remind him that she had noticed his steady decline and she wasn’t going to allow him to hide in the shadows, wasting away.

 

He had no choice - he followed the rest of the party to Hawke’s mansion.  He did fall back from the group a little, keeping an eye out for attackers and trying not to get lost in his thoughts.

 

“I’m glad you came,” Sebastian said, making Anders jump.

 

“So am I,” the mage said eventually, giving the other man an odd look.  “Even though I’m surprised I came at all.”

 

“I think Hawke wasn’t going to take no for an answer,” Sebastian said, his voice carrying the hint of a smile.

 

“I really think she would have picked me up,” Anders huffed.  “Picked me up like a child and carted me off to her home.”

 

“She’s just worried about you, Anders.  We all are.”

 

“Including you?”

 

Sebastian stopped for a moment, looking the mage over.  “Yes, including me.  I do not like to see others suffering.”

 

Anders accepted that answer and feeling awkward, changed the subject.  “Look at them,” he said, nodding in the direction of Hawke and Varric.  “They think they’re being so secretive but it’s plain as day they’re mad for each other.”

 

“I’m glad for them.  We all need someone to fight for, to love,” Sebastian said softly.

 

Anders looked at him quizzically.  “So who do you fight for?  Andraste?  Your family and your home?”

 

Sebastian heard no sarcasm in the other man’s voice and decided to respond.  “I’m not sure yet.”

 

And it was as good an answer as any.

 


	8. As It Slowly Burns Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill finds hope, and love, in the comfort of her friends and the possibility of a future.

Chapter 8:  As It Slowly Burns Out

 

_“She says nothing at all, but simply stares upward into the dark sky and watches, with sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars.”_

_― Neil Gaiman, Stardust_

 

Hawke waved a hand in front of her face.  “Oh, Maker, stop, please.”

 

Merrill had her head down on the table, Aveline grabbing the mage when she almost fell over.  Varric was wiping tears from his eyes.  Isabela had walked away from the table, clutching at her chest.  Fenris was smirking (his version of mirth) and Sebastian was grinning.

 

“I think he might have you beat, Varric,” Fenris said over the sound of their mixed laughter.  

 

Varric gave Anders a grin.  “I will gladly admit that is one of the best stories I have ever heard, Blondie.  Kudos.”  And he tipped his wine glass at the mage.

 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it is my best story,” Anders replied, smiling.  It was a real smile, not the mimicry of one he’d been using.  The grin took years off his face and softened the hard lines around his eyes.  

 

Hawke couldn’t help it, she reached out and touched his cheek.  “You should do that more often, Anders,” she said.

 

He stilled, shocked at her touch, not at her kindness.  His eyes slid to Varric, who was watching them with a knowing look on his face.  No jealousy there, Anders thought, just a man watching his love care for a friend.

 

Hawke slowly withdrew her hand.  “Promise me you’ll be this man more, Anders.  I like him.”

 

Anders had a hard time finding words, so Varric filled in for him. "That scared bunny look on his face says he'd like nothing better than to please you, Hawke, but he doesn't know how."

 

Hawke smiled at him, then leaned in and laid a big, sloppy kiss on Anders' cheek. "Don't listen to him, Anders, he's just jealous because I paid you a compliment and not him."  Anders blushed so hard Hawke thought the roots of his gold hair would turn red, and she laughed and nudged his shoulder with her own.

 

Isabela came back to the table and stood behind Varric, sliding a hand down his shoulder. "Are Mommy and Daddy fighting?"

 

Hawke eyed her carefully and said, "A little lower, Isabela, then it's a party."

 

Varric laughed, a little unsteadily. "Have I been asked if I want to join in this party?"

 

Isabela ignored him and ran her fingers down his arm watching Hawke closely. Varric finally, gently, removed the pirate's hand. "Nice try, Rivaini, but I'm spoken for."

 

Merrill leaned in to watch, saying to Aveline, "Would Hawke really allow that?"

 

Aveline shook her head and whispered, "It's just talk, Merrill.  We're all friends." Her eyes slid to look at Fenris and Anders. "Of a sort."

 

"It's Hawke," Merrill replied, her voice tinged with awe. "She's what puts all of us in the same room, even when some of us aren't too fond of others."  

 

Meanwhile, Varric's rejection drove Isabela to Hawke, her fingers lightly teasing the loose hair at the warrior's temples. "Hmmm, maybe Hawke needs a lighter touch," she said slowly. Varric's eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly, Hawke watching him like, well, a hawk.

 

Despite the incident when he shot an arrow at Fenris, he really wasn't the jealous type.  He knew Hawke and Isabela had flirted before.  Hell, before Hawke, he had even given brief thought to tumbling with the pirate, but she was more fun to drink and joke with. And if he was completely honest with himself, a part of him grew heated at the sight of Elana and Isabela so close together. If they were to ever include another, it would be Rivaini, no question. So he was content to see how far Hawke would carry it.  Plus, Isabela was standing beside Sebastian's chair, and anything that made Choir Boy squirm was worth it.

 

It likely helped that Bodahn had been supplying them with wine and stronger stuff since they arrived. The alcohol had certainly made conversation louder and more boisterous, the gambling more reckless. If the count Varric had been keeping was right, most of them owed coin to him and Rivaini, Merrill had won several potions from Anders (she was sneaky, that Dalish mage), and Fenris was Mabari sitting for Hawke the next time she took off on a dangerous job (or, as Varric preferred, stayed locked inside his room for a few days with no interruptions).

 

So he just watched as Isabela ran her hand down Hawke's jaw, turning the other woman's face so she could look up.

 

“Pretty thing,” Isabela cooed.  Her voice made Sebastian shift away from her, as if he were preserving his dignity by removing himself from her presence.  Isabela bent, pressing her breasts against the top of the chair, and almost ran her lips over Hawke’s temple.  Hawke shifted toward her, a little thing that belied her interest.

 

Conversation at the table stopped as Isabela pulled Hawke’s chair out from the table so she could kneel beside it.  Her fingers danced lightly over Hawke’s thigh as her other hand snaked around the woman’s neck, pulling her down a little.

 

“Very pretty thing,” she murmured in Hawke’s ear, loud enough for everyone to hear.  

 

Bodahn could have released an ogre in the room and no one would have fled, fixated by what was going on at one end of the table between their leader and the saucy pirate.  A few sets of eyes drifted over to Varric, waiting to see if he would stop them.  The look of honest interest on his face answered their silent questions.  He wouldn’t stop them, and he didn’t want to.  He was as enthralled as the rest.  Two beautiful women, one of whom he shared a bed with, flirting and dancing around each other? How could he not watch?

 

Isabela gave the comb in Hawke’s hair one sharp tug, and that raven hair tumbled down, filling Isabela’s senses with the scent of lavender.  Merrill let out a soft gasp at the very rare sight of Hawke with her hair down.  She looked like a goddess, that black hair brushing her shoulders and framing her face in soft waves.

 

Hawke didn’t move as Isabela leaned closer, her mouth coming dangerously near to Elana’s.  “Tell me, pretty thing...have you thought about kissing me?”  Her lips landed lightly on Hawke’s cheek, nothing more than friendly kiss except for the heat in Isabela’s words.  “Have you, hmmm?”  Her hand slowly slid higher on Hawke’s thigh.  “Wondered what I would taste like?  Feel like under you?”  She nudged Hawke’s chin with her nose.  “And maybe I’ve been thinking about you, Elana.  Maybe I’ve wondered what you taste like, how you would feel under me?”  She curled her hand into Hawke's hair. "Maybe I've been thinking about joining both of you, watching you and Varric from a chair in the corner-"

 

Isabela closed the distance between their lips and at the very last second, pulled away, shrieking in laughter.

 

Hawke tipped forward heavily in her chair, gasping for air as she let loose a hearty laugh.

 

“I’m sorry, Hawke, I can’t,” Isabela said in between breaths.  “Oh, the look on all your faces!”  She kissed the top of Hawke’s head.  “I do adore you, dear Hawke.  That was grand.”

 

Hawke pulled her head up and winked at Varric.  "It's Isabela's fault, really," she said between her laughter. "We were talking a few nights ago and she bet me that Varric would get jealous if anyone hit on me.  I told her there was no way, so we made a little bet. This was just the right opportunity to prove Isabela wrong."  She put out her hand and Isabela dropped a sovereign into it.

 

The table let out a collective breath. For the second time tonight, the little group was joined together by laughter.  Hawke and Isabela’s charade had released the last of the tension in the room (even while a few of them discreetly shifted in their chairs, trying to will away the flashes of heat that had crept through them). Cards were passed back around, wine sloshed into goblets, and chatter picked back up.

 

"Hell of a bet, and just on whether or not I would sit back and watch," Varric said to Hawke, honored by her trust in him and giving Isabela a look that had her snickering. _Are you sure that the bet wasn't whether or not I'd get turned on by watching that?  Because I would have lost the person who said no some money_ , he thought.  He should have known something was up by the sudden turn in Isabela's mood. They were both evil.  And he’d pay Hawke back later, in the dark of her room.

 

Isabela came back to him and purred, "Did you like the show, Varric?"

 

"Rivaini, if it had been anyone else, I would have leapt over the table and throttled them, or let Hawke do it," he said right before she leaned in and gave him a wet kiss on the mouth.  Hawke chuckled at that, and she got one from the pirate too.

 

Isabela wandered off, likely to find more wine or scrape together food in the kitchen, and Hawke saw Fenris slide from his chair, almost wraith-like, to follow her. As long as they don't screw in my bed, Hawke thought as she watched Fenris' retreating form.

 

After a few more hands, Sebastian left with Anders in tow, his offer to walk the mage back to Darktown one they all suggested he take. Before Anders left, he scooped Hawke into a hug and said into her ear, "I hope I can live up to the man you think I am."

 

She shook her head and whispered, "Not the man I think you are, Anders, the one I know you are."  She released him, looked into his eyes, and smiled. Trusting, loving Hawke would surely be the death of him, he thought as he backed away.

 

Hawke turned to clasp a friendly hand on Sebastian's shoulder and was shocked when the other man embraced her, saying only, "Thank you." And then they left, as silently as they had entered her home, but walking a little closer to each other into the dark of a Kirkwall night.

 

Hawke's surprised expression had Varric chuckling. "Something wrong, love?"

 

She shook her head and replied, "You saw that, right?" He nodded and she continued, "What was that about?"

 

"Trust, Hawke," Aveline said from behind her. "He trusts you, we all do."

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Hawke joked.  “I’m not known for my common sense.  I seem to remember launching myself at an ogre and kissing a cliff with my face for my efforts.”

 

Aveline chuckled at that.  “I also remember you doing some other incredibly stupid, incredibly heroic things.”  She tossed back the rest of her wine before saying, “If you weren’t that stupid, brave woman that you are, I don’t know that any of us would be here.”

 

“Speak for yourself, Guard Captain,” Varric admonished.  “I knew Hawke was fantastic the first time I walked behind her and got a look at her a-”

 

Hawke slapped her hand over Varric’s mouth.  “Hush now, dwarf. You’ll just go getting yourself into trouble.”

 

Merrill laughed at the pair, her eyes bright for a moment before turning sad.  “I’m jealous of you, of all of you.  Hawke has Varric, you have Donnic, Aveline...Fenris and Isabela seem to be friendly.  Even Anders is spending time with Sebastian.”  She sighed, her fingers tracing over the knots in the table.  “Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake, leaving the Dalish.”

 

“Feeling homesick, Daisy?”

 

She looked at Varric, his concerned face warming her heart.  “Yes, and just a wee bit lonely.”

 

He stood, stretched, and went over to the mage.  He planted a kiss on the top of her head and gripped her shoulder.  “You’ve got us, Daisy.  And you really should take that cute elf from the Alienage you keep mooning over for a drink.  I’m sure she’d like that.”  He looked at Hawke and jerked his head toward her room.  “I’m bushed, love. Don’t stay up too late, Elana.  Girly talk is important, I know, but I’d like to wake up with you curled next to me.  Don’t leave me in that big, cold bed by myself for too long.”

 

Hawke pulled him down for a kiss and let him go, watching until he disappeared from the room.

 

Aveline poured more wine for all of them and then leaned forward conspiratorially.  “Hawke, I’m just still trying to process - you and Varric?”

 

Hawke shrugged.  “What of it?”

 

Aveline snorted.  “Nothing, except it took you long enough.”

 

Merrill nodded.  “Even I knew you were mooney for him and I’m usually out of the loop.”

 

“Was I that obvious?”  They both nodded and she laughed.  “Well, you know me....stubborn and stupid.” She pointed a finger at Aveline. "And you have no room to talk about taking too long."

 

Aveline shrugged. "I guess we're all a little stupid when it comes to love."

 

“So is that what we’re doing, Hawke?  Girly talk, like Varric said?”  Merrill asked, hope in her voice.

 

Hawke leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the table.  “Why not?  It’s so rare I’m not in the company of at least one man.  And as much as I like Isabela, she tends to be more crass than the boys.”

 

Merrill sipped her wine, making a face at the slight bitter taste.  “So, what do we talk about then?”

 

Aveline and Hawke looked at one another.

 

“Boys, girls, whatever you like," Aveline said. "Or, if you want to be boring, the weather, the Qunari, and how much we all wish Sebastian wouldn't wear that white armor. He'll blind us all one of these days, I'm sure of it."

 

Merrill giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand. Hawke leaned over the table and pulled it away. "No hiding, Merrill. We want to know about this girl you like."

 

"Oh, that," Merrill said, blushing. "It's nothing."

 

Aveline reclined back on her chair, the most relaxed she'd been in a long time. "Varric didn't seem to think it was nothing. You can't tell us what you told him?"

 

"Varric is sweet, but a terrible busybody," Merrill said quickly, giving Hawke a knowing look. "You know how he is."

 

Hawke chuckled at that.  "Yes I do. I also know that when he's set on something, he's harder to drag away than separating Beast from a leg of mutton." She crooked a finger at the mage. "Come on, Merrill, spill."

 

"I actually didn't say anything to him," Merrill said in her defense. "He just knew. It was spooky.  All I did was look at her and he just knew."  She crossed her arms over her chest. "Your boyfriend is scary."

 

Aveline snorted into her goblet and Hawke threw a piece of bread at her, which she ducked. "Merrill, _my boyfriend_ is highly observant. He reads people like the rest of us read the Chanter's board - eagerly and with a goal in mind. So now that we've cleared that up, spill it. Who is this girl? What's she like?"

 

The mage sighed, relenting. Varric wasn't the only persistent one in that relationship, she mused, watching Hawke refill Aveline's cup. They were lucky, her and Varric. Aveline and Donnic. Even Fenris and Isabela had more intimacy in their relationship than Merrill had ever had. Being the First to the Keeper meant giving up the chance for a life - romance, a family if she so desired.  She had dedicated herself to the clan and to Marethari and the survival of Dalish history. No time for romance.

 

“Her name is Adanna,” Merrill said quietly.  “She is....beautiful.  And smart.  The first time I saw her, she was yelling at a vendor in Lowtown for trying to pass off stained wood as ironbark.  Oh, she gave him what for.  It was amazing.”

 

Hawke put her chin in her hand, enjoying the way Merrill’s voice had gone all dreamy.  “I bet it was.  Why haven’t you talked to her yet?”

 

“No, I have!” Merrill protested.

 

“When?”

 

The tone in Aveline’s voice pulled the whole truth from the elf.  “A few weeks ago.”  Merrill hung her head.  “I bumped into her and apologized.”

 

“Oh, Merrill,” Aveline said, reaching for the mage’s hand.  “Remember how much trouble I had talking to Donnic?  Don’t go down that same path because of a little fear.  I regret it now, not just telling him how I felt.  How much time did I waste?”

 

Merrill made a noise of pure unhappiness and banged her head on the table.  “Why is this so  hard?”

 

Hawke stroked the spikes of black hair that were sticking up.  “Merrill, sweetie, you just need some practice.”  She tugged on her thin shoulders until Merrill sat up.  “Come on,. let’s give it a try.”

 

Merrill shook her head quickly.  “No, I can’t!  What if I screw up?  What if I just...can’t?”

 

Hawke kept petting her head.  “Yes, you can.”  She looked at Aveline and spread a hand out in front of her, palm up.  “There are two of us here.  So practice on one of us.  Unless you want me to get Isabela.”

 

“No, no, no,” Merrill protested.  

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Aveline said, scooting out from the table.  “Me or Hawke, take your pick.  And the other of us will give you some coaching.”

 

Merrill’s eyes darted between the Guard Captain and the warrior.  She swallowed hard and finally said, almost a whisper, “Hawke.”

 

“I should have known,” Aveline said, smiling.  Merrill started to apologize and she cut her off.  “Merrill, you have nothing to apologize for.  Hawke is an easier target.”  Hawke scoffed at that.  “And after her screw ups with Varric, I think I might know a thing or two about flirting Hawke doesn’t.  I am married, after all.  Flirting and romance don’t go away once you exchange vows.”  She gave Hawke a knowing look.  “And I think the sex just gets better.”

 

“Oh, really?”  Hawke clinked her glass against Aveline’s.  “Maybe you’ll have to tell me about it later.  But for now....let’s work on Merrill.”

 

Hawke stood, grabbed her glass, and said over her shoulder, “Let’s pretend a little, Merrill.  I’m Adanna, coming into The Hanged Man, alone.  Maybe I’m looking for a little company.”  She winked at Merrill and the mage turned four shades of pink.  “Maybe I’m looking for some company from a pretty Dalish elf who lives in the Alienage.”

 

“You think it will work?”  Merrill was looking at Hawke with wide eyes.  “Really?”

 

“I do, Merrill.  Let’s give it a shot.”  Hawke retreated into the shadows, her footsteps retreating, stopping, then turning back.  She sat daintily at the far end of the table and put both hands around her cup.  A hopeful expression was on her face as she looked around, spotted Merrill, and quickly looked away.

 

Aveline nudged Merrill, who stood and knocked over her chair.  Aveline waved her off, giving her a gentle shove toward Hawke/Adanna.

 

Merrill gave the redhead one scared look and received a nod of encouragement in return.  Gulping air and trying to hide her shaking hands, she sat next to Hawke.  The silence stretched seconds, into a minute and Aveline said, “Merrill.”

 

Merrill waved a hand at Aveline, making the Guard Captain chuckle into her hand.  The mage looked very determined, and just a tiny bit scared and Aveline thought that was the perfect combination for this moment. _Break out of that shell, Merrill.  You can do it._

 

Clearing her throat, Merrill leaned in just a little and said, “Um...hi.”

 

Hawke looked up, and Aveline had to stifle a laugh.  Hawke had somehow contorted her face into a rather, for lack of a better term, elvish expression that made her look dainty, but slightly more feral.  “Hi.”  She motioned to the imaginary bartender for a drink.

 

“I’m Merrill,” the mage said quietly.  

 

“I’m Adanna, Merrill.  Nice to meet you.”

 

Merrill shot Aveline a panicked look and Aveline mouthed, c _ompliment her_.  Nodding, Merrill turned back and said, finger running along the table, “I, uh, really like your, um....dress!”  She gazed down at her feet.  “It’s very pretty, the blue with yellow vines.  It makes your eyes look like sapphires.”

 

Aveline gave her a thumbs up and that gave Merrill the courage to continue.  “Can I buy you a drink?”

 

Hawke smiled softly and said, “I’d like that very much, Merrill.  You’re very sweet, buying me a drink and telling me I have pretty eyes.”

 

“Oh, did I say that?”  Merrill looked sheepish.  “I didn’t mean to-”

 

“Don’t worry,” Hawke/Adanna said, laughing.  “It was a nice thing to say.”  And to Merrill’s complete surprise, her Adanna stand-in leaned in and kissed her cheek.  “You’re sweet, Merrill.”

 

Merrill blushed all the way down to her toes, clapping a hand over the spot Hawke had kissed.  She turned hopeful eyes onto Hawke.  “Do you think that would really work?”

 

Hawke laughed, pushing a lock of her friend’s hair behind her ear.  “I do.  I think Adanna will see you just as you are - sweet and kind and Adanna is very lucky that you’re interested in her.”

 

Merrill brightened, smiling.  “You’re too good to me, Hawke.”  And she shot Aveline a grateful smile.  “Thank you, both of you.”  

 

They spent another hour giving Merrill pointers - compliments, how to keep her hands from fiddling with her scarf when she couldn’t think of anything to say.  How to make and keep eye contact.

 

When Merrill asked, feeling braver than normal, about how to kiss, Hawke promptly leaned in and planted one on her friend’s mouth.  Merrill squeaked, shocked, and pulled back.

 

Aveline laughed.  “Come over here, Merrill, and I’ll give you one too.  You’ve earned it.”  She didn’t wait for Merrill to come to her, she grabbed the mage by the shoulders and planted one on her.

 

Merrill had never felt more loved.  “Kissing is a little bit art, a little bit luck, and a lot of getting to know what the other person likes,” Hawke said.  “Everyone is different, but the basic rules are the same.  No rough stuff unless the situation calls for it, or more importantly, the person you’re kissing asks for it.  Watch the teeth, use your tongue carefully, and don’t slobber.”

 

“Slobber?”

 

Aveline shuddered.  “That the worst.  It’s usually men who are bad about it, but I kissed a girl once who slobbered worse than a Mabari.”

When Aveline said “Mabari”, Beast, who had been sleeping by the now burnt-out fire, lifted his head.  Aveline crooked a finger at him and he rose, stretched, and trotted over happily to her.  She scratched behind his ears and he started to pant.  “I’d better get going, Hawke.  I’m sure Donnic is wondering where I am.”  She looked down at the Mabari.  “Ready to chew on some recruits later, boy?”

 

Beast let out a happy bark and danced around as Aveline rose.  He trotted over to Hawke, who gave him a big kiss on the head, and waited while Aveline gave Hawke, then Merrill a hug.  “You should go talk to Adanna, Merrill.  Don’t be afraid.  I know you can do it.”

 

Merrill pulled back, trying not to tear up at the other woman’s kind words.  “Thank you, Aveline.  Truly.”

 

Aveline gave her one last squeeze then headed out, Beast at her heels.  When she opened the door, a tiny sliver of pink light from the barely rising sun stretched across the floor.

 

“Creators, is it almost dawn?”  Merrill stretched, yawning.

 

Hawke smiled.  Merrill’s improved mood and sudden confidence boost was a good sign.  She’d been worried about her friend for some time. Merrill had been growing distant, more than just homesick and a little lonely.  Varric would stop by to check on her, or she would, and they would find Merrill sitting, staring at the floor, barely acknowledging their presence.

 

This worry had kept her up at night and when Varric would awaken to find Hawke sitting up, wrapped in a blanket and staring out the window into the cold night sky, he would climb from bed and curl up beside her on the lounge chair.  

 

They would sit in silence, the pop of the fire providing a backdrop for their unspoken thoughts and worries.  Varric would hug her tightly, whisper in her ear, and sit with her until she fell asleep.  They never had to say anything in those moments, the dark of the room and of the night surrounding them.

 

The last time, Hawke looked up at the stars and said softly, “I don’t know anymore, Varric.”

 

“Don’t know what, love?”

 

She rested her head on his, still staring out at the night sky.  The stars seemed to dance, glittering and cold against an onyx backdrop.  “Anything.  Some days, I just don’t know.”

 

Varric kissed her gently.  “I do.”  He kissed her again.  “I know you, and us.”

 

“But what if-”

 

He chuckled softly, pushing her hair back from her face.  “None of that, now.  You worry too much, Elana.”  Trailing his lips down her cheek, he whispered, “Want me to make you forget?”

 

And she did.  “Please.”

 

Merrill’s hug shook her from her memories.  “Hawke, I-”

 

She returned the hug, squeezing her friend for all she was worth.  “Just promise me you will go talk to Adanna.  Hell, take her home with you.”

 

Merrill giggled.  “Is that what happened with you and Varric?  You just...took him home?”

 

Hawke smiled.  “No, he shot an arrow at Fenris then sat on the roof with me and listened to me mope until I pulled him to me and kissed him.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Well, I might have left out a few details,” Hawke replied coyly.  “And it certainly didn’t start on the roof.  But that’s where we found each other.”

 

And that’s where Varric found Hawke a while later.  Her back was to him and she was watching the sunrise, gold and pink and orange melting into each other.  

 

“Thought I told you to come to bed,” he murmured in her ear.  She turned into his kiss, sighing as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

 

“Merrill just left,” Hawke replied after they pulled apart.

 

“Did you help her?”

 

Hawke nodded.  “I think so.”  She paused.  “I hope so.”

 

“Good.”  He kissed her again, a gentle promise of forever.  “I’m proud of you.”

 

“I love you,” she said, looking at him.  She’d been laid bare before him but in that moment, he knew her.  Every inch of body and soul in the truest and most intimate of ways.  

 

The look he gave her spoke the volume of his heart.  “I love you too, Elana.”

 


	9. At The End of Days, The Only Path Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of days, Varric and Hawke stood together as Kirkwall fell and the world broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I really appreciate everyone's lovely comments. There were many "missed" opportunities in this fic, ones that I want to write up and add to this series. 
> 
> If anyone has plot bunnies they'd like to shoot my way, or kink memes they've seen or come up with, please email me at hallianna.1@gmail.com. I'd love to talk to you!

Chapter 9 :  At The End of Days, The Only Path Left

_“To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.”_

_― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 4: Season of Mists_

  
  


At the end of it was, he was there. He saw the heartbreak on her face when Anders betrayed her, and the disgust when she let him go. She fought for what was right by choosing the mages, and brought the world to the brink of war when she killed the Knight Commander.

 

They left Kirkwall, and their friends.  Aveline stayed, for the city and for Donnic. Isabela left on the next ship, Fenris following in her wake.  They had grown close over the last several years, Elana's gentle rejection of the elf drove him to find peace, and pleasure, in the arms of the pirate.

 

Anders had fled, to where... no one knew. They'd all felt the hot rush of anger and pain when he turned on them, no longer the man or the mage they knew.  Merrill had wept quietly, trying to hide her tears while Fenris had grabbed Isabela's hand so hard that she hissed and pulled away, caught up in her own torrent of conflicting emotions.  Aveline had closed her eyes, not wanting to show anyone the sadness shining bright there.  And Hawke had turned a stony countenance on Sebastian, who had backed away in horror, his voice betraying rage when Hawke chose to let Anders go but his face reflecting every bit of pain they all felt. With one action, Anders had wiped away every chance he may have ever had to find friendship and love.

 

After that day, with pieces of the Chantry raining down on them and the smell of ozone and ash and magic in the air, she swore she'd never speak his name again. She wanted him banished, from the Free Marches and from her heart.

 

And Varric stood with her as she helped Merrill go back to the Dalish, far wiser than she'd been when they first took her from Sundermount.  Sebastian had gone to reclaim the Starkhaven lands and take his place on the throne.  He believed the Chantry, and the Maker, had abandoned him.

 

And then they were alone.  So they left Kirkwall, running as hard and as fast as they could to get away from the war that was tearing the land apart.  They didn't stop until they reached Orlais, their days full of fighting the ever-growing hordes of darkspawn, their nights spent curled together as Varric whispered in her ear, held her hand, and loved her passionately.

 

They found a home, and a life, for a while. Varric reconnected with the Merchant's Guild and Elana, Champion of Kirkwall, helped to train the local army against darkspawn attacks.

 

But their happy life was ripped from them when the sky opened up and all manner of demons poured forth, sweeping all the lands into a second darkness.  It was worse than the Blight, and they both knew the world stood on the edge of a pin.

 

On the day they left their home, they both knew they were never coming back.  She'd held his hand and wept silently. The terrible truth of it was in front of them. The life they'd built, the home they'd kept...the children they'd wanted, would never become a full reality.  Not until this war was over.

 

She wiped her tears away roughly, a determined look on her face.  "Ready?"

 

He looked at her and smiled.  "You know the answer to that question, my love."

 

"Just checking." Her sword sung as she pulled it from its scabbard.  "We're fighting for us, Varric, for our children, so no heroics."

 

He grinned at her as he unholstered Bianca. "I'm not the one who went solo on an ogre."

 

She rolled her eyes. "Are you ever going to let that go?"

 

"Nope."

 

"Such a stubborn dwarf," she said, and there was just a little sadness in her voice.  "Let's go."

 

And he followed her into the depths of hell, knowing that they’d make it, or they wouldn’t.  He was okay with it going either way, just as long as she was beside him.

  
  



End file.
